Defenders of the Empty Throne
by Theodur
Summary: This story begins several months before the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and destruction of the Conclave, loosely follows the events of DAI, and goes a little beyond. This is not simply the story of the Inquisitor; this is also the story of Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden. Drama, adventure, romance and unique twists all included at no additional cost.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, dear readers, and welcome to my new story set in the world of Dragon Age! _

_The general mood of this story will be darker than my Mass Effect stuff and more in tune with my previous Dragon Age stories. Characters won't have plot armor like in DAI game, and everyone will be fair game. The many character deaths in the previous stories have also led to some very notable cast changes in this story, which means that while it generally follows the main plot of DAI, there will be many differences. _

_If you are curious about some of the surprising changes and want to read up on the prequels, the recommended order of reading is 'Tranquility' and it's small tie-in 'Price of Immortality', followed by the post-DA2 stories 'Survivors of Kirkwall' and 'The Years Between'. _

_Note: at the end of 'The Years Between', I hinted that Bethany would be joining the Seekers of Light, however, now that DAI has revealed the lore of just how one becomes a Seeker, clearly this is impossible and has been changed. Still, this isn't really plot-breaking; just like Leliana was able to become the Left Hand while being a mere lay sister, Bethany does not need any special status to become involved with the Divine and her 'Small Council'. _

_And now, onwards with the story! Enjoy! _

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_City of Val Royeaux, Orlais_

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast let out a disgruntled sigh, snatching a glass of red wine from the tray carried by one of the many elven servants, rushing to serve the many nobles and dignitaries in attendance of yet another ball in the capital where its busy social life and the Great Game appeared undisrupted by something as trivial as a civil war ravaging most of the fair country of Orlais.

Dressed in the ceremonial garb of the Seekers of Truth, Cassandra stood in the shadows provided by an arch formed by two incrusted marble pillars, keeping away from the heart of the festivities, maintaining the perfect position from which to observe the guests and keep an eye on her charge, currently chatting animatedly with another young woman, the only one amongst the guests who was not wearing a mask. Cassandra recognized the olive-skinned woman as the Antivan ambassador to Orlais, which explained lack of the traditional mask, as well as her differently, slightly oddly styled clothing, featuring plenty of golden sequins and slightly comical looking ruffles. The Seeker was a little surprised when she picked up some visual clues of Bethany lightly flirting with the other woman, wondering whether her young charge had somehow managed to detect something about the Antivan that Cassandra had been unaware of.

This was all they had been doing as of late, much to Cassandra's frustration. The conflict between mages and the templars was only picking up in strength, and the Divine's attempts to call for peace had fallen on deaf ears so far. And waiting for one side to claim victory by completely eradicating the other was not an option, for they would undoubtedly see most of Thedas destroyed before that happened. The Divine had a plan, one final attempt to secure peace, calling for a Conclave in an attempt to bring the leadership of the templars and the rebel mages together, and hopefully get them to actually talk instead of swinging swords and hurling spells at each other. Getting the mages and the templars to commit to attending, however, was a very difficult task, one that Cassandra did not enjoy even if she understood its importance. But as the Right Hand of the Divine, she could not refuse Justinia's request, and together with her young protégé they had set out to try and ensure the presence of enough mages and templars to grant legitimacy to the Conclave.

Oh, it was not as if the mages or the templars themselves attended these Orlesian parties, but that was not the point. Everyone in these circles had connections and either had ties to templars or mages, or knew someone who did and could put in a good word. The Antivan ambassador likely did not know any mages or templars herself, but she had plenty of contacts in the Antiva City and elsewhere, through which they were hoping to extend their persuasive influence. Over the many months, some progress had been made, but Cassandra knew it was not nearly enough. Grand Enchanter Fiona and her rebel mages were still sitting tight in the fortress of Andoral's Reach, while Lord Seeker Lucius Corin led the rebellious templars and Seekers across the countryside, tracking down and eliminating any mages daring to set foot outside of their newly found sanctum. Until the very leadership of the rebels agreed to attend the Conclave, the chance for peace remained slim.

Truly, Cassandra was now very glad for having made the choice to bring Bethany back to Val Royeaux and introduce her to the Divine. Certainly, her apostate status had caused even more stir in the circles of the templars and Seekers, especially when the Divine immediately took the young woman under her wing, Justinia almost entranced by Bethany's fascinating stories, and her measured, reasoned faith in the Maker, sometimes involving more questioning and doubt than Cassandra personally approved of, but the Divine apparently considered healthy, and Cassandra trusted Justinia implicitly. Her initial plan to have Bethany assume the status of a Seeker without undergoing the Vigil was shot down immediately by the then current Lord Seeker Lambert, but Justinia was happy to accept Bethany in her personal service without any special status other than a mere lay sister of the Chantry, and Cassandra knew that Justinia had big plans for the young woman, intending to groom her into becoming the Left Hand of the Divine.

At first, Cassandra was a little taken aback after Justinia had confided in her about some of her plans, unsure about the wisdom of placing so much trust in someone who was essentially an apostate, even if she had proven to be trustworthy and dependable. Still, as time passed by, the Seeker had to acknowledge that the Divine's intentions had strong rationale behind them. Bethany had seen so much during her adventures with her sister, the famous Riona Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and her experiences at the Gallows, the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, provided her with a unique perspective. But most of all, the Divine was fascinated, and deeply concerned, by the shocking knowledge that Bethany had obtained at a forgotten Grey Warden prison in the Vimmark Mountains, something that Cassandra herself was trying to dismiss and not think about, trying to convince herself that what Bethany had learned was irrelevant.

Cassandra herself did not believe a single word this creature, this ancient magister of the Tevinter Imperium, had told Bethany about the Golden City already being black when he and his power hungry cabal of magisters passed through the Veil to walk in the Fade, place where no mortal was supposed to thread. And still, during these troubled times when the Chantry was losing its influence and had already lost its power base in Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth, the Divine did not need such stories to spread and seed further doubt amongst the flocks of still loyal followers. Others would have probably suggested simply silencing Bethany and those who had been with her, but Cassandra could never consider such a course of action, her honor would not stand for eliminating someone simply because they could become inconvenient. And there was something to Bethany's warnings that this Corypheus was still out there, having possessed the former Knight-Captain of the Kirkwall Circle, a templar by the name of Cullen. The younger Hawke believed that Cullen, or Corypheus, had possessed the entire Circle of Nevarra City and led them to the Deep Roads, likely to build its power base and craft nefarious plots. Cassandra was not certain what exactly had happened in Nevarra, but the entire experience of watching the Circle mages and templars entering the caverns rumored to lead into the Deep Roads had been deeply unsettling, and thus she did not want to dismiss Bethany's theory outright.

Still, in light of the mage and templar war, otherwise concerning events such as the possible reemergence of an ancient magister, and even the ongoing civil war between the forces of Celene and Gaspard had to be pushed down the priority list, at least in the eyes of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. The Chantry had ensured relative peace upon Thedas for the last nine centuries, and Cassandra did not even want to imagine the chaos that would erupt if they did not succeed in their effort to help Justinia restore the Chantry, and assist the Divine in reforming the institution as she saw fit to ensure that such crisis would never repeat.

_Maker, give us strength to see this task through, _Cassandra thought to herself as she continued to observe Bethany and her new Antivan acquaintance, the two young women laughing and chatting amiably like old friends. Cassandra was continuously surprised at how natural Bethany had become at this new role, especially since by Bethany's own admission she was generally quite shy and preferred to stay out of the limelight. Still, knowing what was at stake, pushed the younger Hawke to do what was necessary to help the Chantry, and her recent experiences since leaving Kirkwall had made her a lot more confident and self-reliant compared to the young woman who had always looked up to her more outgoing older sister.

In truth, Cassandra supposed, Bethany had everything to excel in her new role. She was highly intelligent and possessed extraordinary beauty, and the bard training that she had received during the past few months had taught her how to utilize her natural gifts. Before meeting Cassandra, she had spent almost a year living and working in Val Chevin, and had already observed the way the Great Game was played, and at that time her opinion of the Game mirrored Cassandra's distaste for the ruthless Orlesian pastime. But now... now it was the necessary evil that one of them had to master, and Bethany had volunteered instantly, the results surprising even her bard trainer. Cassandra believed that in many ways it was because Bethany was so adept at choosing her masks and clothing ever so skillfully to emphasize her beauty. While most Orlesians wore masks that hid their faces almost entirely, Bethany selected hers so that it hid some of her features, but displayed others, such as those lush red lips and mesmerizing brown orbs of her eyes. A carefully selected dress that revealed Bethany's supple bosom often won more negotiations than any spoken word, no matter how much Bethany herself frowned at using this tactic. Many hours had also been spent trying to eliminate the remnants of Fereldan accent from her speech, the mix of Orlesian, Fereldan and Marcher giving her voice a slightly exotic sound that left the men and women at the capital's ballrooms intrigued and speculating about Bethany's origins.

Cassandra halted her train of thoughts upon noticing that Bethany had parted company with the Antivan ambassador and was now slowly approaching her, heads of the other guests turning as she walked by them, the men in particular accompanying Bethany with stares full of lust and longing. The Seeker rolled her eyes at the shameful display before turning her attention to the satisfied looking Bethany, standing in front of her.

"I take it that you have been successful," the Seeker stated impassively.

"I would like to hope so," Bethany nodded. "Josie is a delight. She promised to do what she can to put pressure on both mages and templars to attend the Conclave."

"Josie?" Cassandra's eyebrows rose at that.

"Oh! I meant Ambassador Josephine Montilyet," Bethany grinned. "But as a said, she is a delight. Two minutes into the conversation, and she was already insisting that I call her Josie."

"A testament to your training, I suppose," Cassandra shrugged. "I noticed that you were... flirting with her?"

"Was I?" Bethany appeared a little surprised. "I didn't think so, but I suppose I was? A little. She seemed to respond well to it... oh, no, no, you don't need to worry," she laughed, having noticed the frown on Cassandra's face. "She is very pretty, but we all must remain professional... too much is at stake here to give in to... distractions."

"I'm glad you remember that," Cassandra nodded.

"Have I given any reason for you to doubt that?" now it was Bethany's turn to frown. "Anyway, Josie is completely on our side in this. The situation could not be any more precarious, so she is utterly motivated to do whatever she can to help stabilize it. And she has a wide net of connections... it was a very good idea to make friends with her, I think."

"It does sound like it, yes," the Seeker agreed. "Ah, I will be glad to be done with these games... but at least you appear to be enjoying them."

"Do you truly think so?" Bethany asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I can assure you, there are a dozen things I would rather be doing than this... and a dozen places I would rather be than here..."

"I know... and I apologize, I did not want to make insensitive implications," Cassandra's voice softened, having picked up on the tinge of hurt in the girl's voice, remembering some of the private things that Bethany had shared during the past year, the separation from her sister and her old friends in Kirkwall was still affecting her, and even though Bethany was brooding less and less, Cassandra knew that she had not forgotten her missing lover as well, still no trace or any news of this missing elven apostate Merrill.

"Think nothing of it," in an instant, the genuine emotion in Bethany's voice was gone, the young woman slipping back into her bard role, a metaphorical mask settling back in its place, almost as if dismissing the concern that Cassandra had tried to show.

"Are there any others you wished to speak with, or should we leave?" Cassandra asked, quickly swallowing the disappointment at being brushed aside so decisively.

"There are several dignitaries from Lydes that I was hoping to have a chat with," Bethany replied. "However, Madame de Fer had them in her clutches until now... oh, I see that she has released them," the young woman exclaimed, having stolen a quick glance back at the ballroom. "Now is my chance! Wish me luck..."

"Good luck," Cassandra sighed, Bethany already out of her earshot, the Seeker having left with nothing else to do than to return to her role of a quiet observer.

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><p>It was several hours past midnight when Bethany and Cassandra finally left the ball, Bethany refusing the Seeker's offer to escort her to the apartment she was renting a convenient walking distance away from the Grand Cathedral. Even with two wars ravaging the country of Orlais, the capital appeared almost as safe as ever, the warring parties picking and choosing their battlegrounds elsewhere. Besides, it was not as if Bethany could not protect herself, and right now she wanted the opportunity to sort out her thoughts during the short walk home instead of spending time chatting with Cassandra, the Seeker's only topic of conversation these days being the crisis they were facing, understandable as it was.<p>

Cassandra's words from earlier on had made her think about things she had not considered for some time. She had been so taken with her at times obsessive mission to atone for the sins she had unwittingly committed in Kirkwall, for having unknowingly helped to start this mage-templar conflict, dedicating herself completely in helping the Chantry, hoping that it would grant her absolution from the guilt she was still feeling. There was no time for anything else in her life, but tonight, Cassandra's words together with the charming Antivan she had met during the party, had brought back memories Bethany thought she had buried. It wasn't as if she didn't think of Merrill anymore at all, but... Maker, it was almost three years from that fateful day in Kirkwall. The shy, awkward elf who had stolen her heart had been missing for a long time, and Bethany had slowly come to accept the obvious explanation. Merrill was no longer amongst the world of the living, either her blood magic or the eluvian she had been researching probably proving her undoing in the end. It was the end to their romance that everyone, including her own sister Riona, had warned her about, but even if it had all ended in tragedy, Bethany did not regret a single thing.

Bethany briefly wondered whether these reemerging emotions meant that she was finally ready to move on from waiting for the unlikely chance that Merrill might return one day. Perhaps she was ready to turn a new leaf, yes, but Bethany also knew that she would have to deny herself such distractions, at least until the current crisis was over and she had redeemed herself in the eyes of the Maker. _Perhaps... perhaps then I might meet someone as charming and attractive as Lady Josephine Montilyet..._ Bethany thought to herself, turning the key in the lock on her apartment doors, resolving to immediately write a letter of gratitude to Josie, thanking her for the support she had promised to provide.

However, this resolution would remain unfulfilled. As soon as Bethany stepped into her living room and casually flicked her wrist to summon the mage-lights, she received the fright of her life. A massive crossbow rested on top of the living room table, fortunately not pointed at her by its owner, a very familiar smirking dwarven gentleman, casually sitting in one of the chairs, dressed in a leather jacket that as always displayed a generous amount of manly chest hair.

"Heh, you should see the look on your face right now, Sunshine," Varric Tethras chuckled amiably. "Priceless, utterly priceless. Completely worth the six pairs of lock-picks it took me to infiltrate this fortress of yours."

"Varric!" Bethany exclaimed, her head spinning from the unexpected surprise before she rushed forward to embrace the dwarf, Varric as always tolerating her displays of affection with all the patience of a Chantry saint. "What brings you here, you magnificent bastard!"

"Well, I don't get called that every day," Varric grinned once Bethany had released him and regained some control over her bursting emotions. "Actually, I've been in Val Royeaux for quite a while... but you have proved incredibly difficult to track down and get in touch with. Not with that Chantry lapdog of yours, always sticking by your side."

"Oh, you must mean Cassandra," Bethany smiled. "She's one of the Seekers of Light. Very stern, driven lady... but she's really nice to those she trusts, so I've come to like her a great deal. Come to think of it, Cassandra reminds me a little bit of Aveline. You would like her as well, I'm sure."

"Yes... because Aveline and I get on so well, huh?" Varric groaned.

"Hey! You became fast friends... after seven long years of bickering," Bethany laughed. "Okay, I concede your point. But you still haven't answered the question of what you're doing here!"

"We didn't like what we were hearing out of Nevarra, so... Aveline thought that one of us should go investigate..." Varric started his tale.

"You mean she made you go to Nevarra City," Bethany inserted with a knowing grin.

"Something like that," the dwarf grumbled. "When I arrived there, the Circle was empty and nobody knew what had happened. Someone had seen you leaving with your Seeker friend, though, and after a little bit of digging I found out that you were headed for Val Royeaux. And that's why I'm here now... to see in what kind of trouble you have gotten yourself into. And also to find out why you have not written anyone a word about what's going on with your life."

"I, uh... well, I'm not in any kind of trouble, I've just been so very busy..." Bethany blushed, knowing that the excuses she was making sounded pathetic. "I'm actually working with the Divine herself to stop this mage-templar war!"

"So... not in any kind of trouble, huh?" Varric smirked. "I think I will have to stick around and make sure you don't get dragged even deeper into plots that go way over your pretty little head, Sunshine."

"Varric... not that I don't appreciate you being here and all, but... why?" Bethany blinked. "You have your own life in Kirkwall! And I thought that you were spending all your resources on locating Riona! Maker... I should have written just to learn whether you have tracked down my sister. I'm such an idiot..."

"Well... to tell you the truth, right now... Kirkwall really isn't a great place to be," Varric shrugged. "Aveline is the only one left there from the old group. The city has changed after... after Anders... and well, it hasn't changed for the better. Maybe I'll go back eventually, but... right now, it's not really where I want to be. And I did make a promise to look out for the Hawke sisters, didn't I? Well, here I am."

"For some reason I always thought by that you meant Riona first and foremost," Bethany gave the dwarf a scrutinizing stare. "What has happened? Where is my sister, do you know anything at all?"

"The last letters she sent to Aveline were from Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine," Varric replied. "She hasn't written in a while, and the last few ravens that Aveline sent returned with the messages still attached, but... I don't think it's really a reason to be concerned. After all, Ferelden is the safest place for any mage right now, isn't it?"

"I don't know... these news really don't reassure me all that much," Bethany frowned deeply. "You should have gone looking for her, not for me."

"Sunshine, I don't really think that your sister wants me to come looking for her," Varric grumbled in reply.

"What, why would she not want that, I don't understand," Bethany shook her head, feeling confused.

"Well, in the last letter she sent to Aveline, there was mention of a... man in her life," Varric said stiffly. "Someone called Nathaniel, or something. Lord of this Vigil's Keep, apparently. Aveline and I, we were thinking... maybe she's married by now... maybe she doesn't want anything to do with her Kirkwall past, and I certainly would not blame her if she felt that way."

"That's... a lot to take in..." Bethany remarked, her legs feeling a little weak and she was grateful for having remembered to sit down before Varric sprung all these revelations upon her. "If not for this war... I would go look for her myself. And also to make sure this Nathaniel is suitable for my sister. But I would have expected you to go anyway, despite everything. You know how much Riona treasures your friendship. After mother's death, you were the most important person in her life."

"Damn it, Sunshine... don't say things like that," Varric replied hoarsely, turning away and appearing to be coughing a little uncomfortably. "Just... don't..."

"Wait... what are you saying? No... it can't be..." something suddenly began to dawn upon Bethany, making her eyes go wide in realization. _Varric and my own sister being lovers, and keeping it from me all this time? Those sneaky bastards!_ "No, I would have noticed... wouldn't I? How did I not notice it over all those years? Under my very nose!"

"You don't want to go there, Sunshine, please," Varric spoke up gravely, Bethany wincing from the tone that suggested deep hurt despite his best efforts to appear indifferent. "Whatever happened, it's in the past. I do not wish to discuss it... besides, I'm here to help you, so let's focus on that, shall we?"

"I... yes, of course, Varric," Bethany offered quickly. _Perhaps I should ask him about Merrill... but if he had news about her, he would have mentioned them by now. No... just like for me, Kirkwall has taken his love from him... but we cannot afford to be brooding upon that. A new chapter in our lives begins, and we both must turn the page and move on. _"I am very glad you are here," she added, flashing her old friend a grateful smile. "You have extensive experience managing a network of spies and informants... yes, if you truly wish to help me... there is much I could learn from you, Varric."

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><p>"Step closer, my dears, step closer," at the urging of Divine Justinia V, Bethany and Cassandra walked up the steps towards the Sunburst Throne and gently lowered themselves to sit at the Divine's feet. "I have most excellent news to share with you both... though the news, these bright rays of hope amongst all this darkness, are entirely of your making."<p>

"Your Holiness?" Cassandra looked up at the smiling elderly head of the Chantry and the leader of the Andrastian faith.

"Your efforts have borne fruit," the Divine spoke, producing two elaborate envelopes and displaying them for Bethany and Cassandra. "These letters are from Lord Seeker Lucius Corin and Grand Enchanter Fiona. They are... no longer dismissing my proposal of peace talks. Which means that your work of many months has resulted in enough pressure on both the mages and the templars to sit down at the Conclave and once and for all actually begin to discuss our issues calmly and rationally. For the first time in years, hope for peace has reemerged once again... all because of you."

"You are too kind, Your Holiness," Cassandra replied, looking deeply flustered by the unexpected praise. "But you diminish your own tireless work in this matter. Without your support and guidance, we would have never been able to accomplish this," she added, Bethany nodding along fervently.

"I knew you would say something like that, Cassandra... ever the humble one," the Divine smiled at her two loyal servants. "As for you, Bethany... please, come closer... closer," Justinia ordered as Bethany nervously approached the throne, the young woman looking almost mortified with surprise when the Divine placed her warm palm on her cheek to tilt her head slightly upwards so that she would stare right in the eyes of the Most Holy. "While I have never doubted the strength of your faith ever since Cassandra introduced us, I needed to see how far you were willing to go, and how hard you were willing to fight for what you believe in. This entire task was also a test to see whether you are suited for the role that I have in mind for you."

"What do you mean... Your Holiness?" Bethany breathed out, barely able to speak.

"After the conclusion of the peace talks at the Conclave, I will declare you as the Left Hand of the Divine," Justinia smiled at the breathless young woman. "I have thought about this long and hard, and I believe you are worthy of this role. And Cassandra agrees with my opinion."

"Without a shadow of doubt, Your Holiness," Cassandra nodded fervently.

"Then it is decided," Justinia finished, taking her hand away and releasing Bethany, the young mage looking overwhelmed and almost relieved at being able to retreat and retake her seat next to Cassandra.

"If I may ask, Most Holy," Cassandra began tentatively. "Where do you plan to hold the Conclave, have you decided yet?"

"Yes... it was a revelation that came to me in a dream, perhaps sent by the Maker himself," Justinia replied. "I saw a hidden temple, high amongst snowy mountaintops, and it did not take me long to realize what I had seen. The Temple of Sacred Ashes near Haven. Despite the ashes having been removed from the holy site, it is still a place of great significance to all of us who believe in our Lord Maker, mages and templars included. I am sure that both parties will make sure not to desecrate this holy mountain by engaging in hostilities."

"Haven?" Bethany asked, her brow creasing a little. "The Fereldans consider it their territory, don't they? Won't the... you-know-who oppose us?" By the 'you-know-who' Bethany was referring to Queen Maythre of Ferelden, the Hero of the Fifth Blight, but also an elven blood mage who had taken the throne in Denerim through series of carefully crafted machinations, eliminating all opposition, and she now ruled the country with an iron fist. The Divine had forbidden her name to be spoken amidst the walls of the Grand Cathedral because of the great dislike she harbored towards Maythre, the elven queen having effectively outlawed the Chantry in most of Ferelden, even if the Andrastian faith itself was still allowed. Several Exalted Marches against the heretical queen had been planned, but always something interrupted the preparations, first the events in Kirkwall, then the fallout at the White Spire and the dissolution of the Circles.

"She would not dare to risk interfering with armies of templars and mages flocking to Haven," Cassandra shook her head, looking assured. "Not to mention that I do not believe Haven or the temple interest her. No... she will keep away."

"I am of the same opinion, Cassandra," Justinia nodded. "However... we would do well to have contingencies in place should the worst come to pass and the Conclave fails to achieve lasting peace between mages and the templars." Bethany and Cassandra exchanged puzzled stares, uncertain as to what the Divine was referring to. "Yes, I can see you are curious, but worry not, my dears, I do not plan to keep you in the dark. The plan is quite simple, you see... and it is also the only solution that I can think of. And since the Maker has not provided me with another alternative, I must accept it as a sign of his approval."

"What are you planning, Most Holy?" Cassandra asked, looking and sounding tense.

"If the Conclave fails, then it would also mean that the whole system has failed," the Divine spoke solemnly. "In which case there is only one thing to do. We go back to the beginning, we start again and we try to do better. You both know the history of the Chantry, and our humble beginnings. Think back at the time before the founding of the Chantry, when Thedas had been plunged into the chaos following the First Blight. Well... recent events have left our world in a state of similar chaos. And in those early days, who stepped forth to restore the order?"

"Most Holy, surely you don't mean..." Bethany managed, having gone pale from the realization.

"Your Holiness, do you truly wish to restore..." Cassandra gasped, also catching on with the Divine's intentions.

"Yes, that is what I feel might be the only alternative," Divine Justinia V said, nodding at a thick leather-bound and gem-incrusted tome resting on a table nearby. "If the Conclave fails... I hereby charge you both with reforming the Inquisition..."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: At the end of 'The Years Between' I remarked upon frequently forgetting that Hawke was supposed to have a pet mabari. I did remember about Spot's existence when starting this story… but considering how this chapter panned out, maybe it would have been better for everyone involved if I had just forgotten all about the poor mutt. So yeah, my 'Hero' of Ferelden is at her charming best, and thus this chapter is rather dark and potentially upsetting._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

_The Fortress of Andoral's Reach _

"Hope you are ready for this, Hawke," Ser Cauthrien spoke, giving Riona an icy stare as they both stood in one of the several more intact halls at the ancient, decrepit Tevinter fortress of Andoral's Reach, waiting for the delegation of rebel mages to arrive and meet them. "Or do you require another reminder of what will happen should your attempts of diplomacy fail?" she added with a cruel smirk.

"No, thank you, I remember just fine," Riona replied, deciding not to rise to Cauthrien's biting, at least not now when she needed to retain her composure. And how could she not remember what was at stake? Nathaniel, the man who had done so much for her ever since her return to Ferelden, the man who she loved found himself behind the bars in Fort Drakon and Riona did not doubt for a moment that Queen Maythre would not hesitate to follow through on her threats and have Nathaniel killed should she fail in convincing the rebel mages to submit themselves to the ruler of Ferelden.

Still, Riona was not entirely certain of her chances at persuading the rebel mages, no matter how hard she tried. Even though Maythre tried to present herself as a friend of all the mages, advertising Ferelden as a place where mages could live free and without fear of persecution, the perception of the elven queen outside the borders of Ferelden was that of a controversial figure at least. For one, she had never publicly denounced the use of blood magic, and amidst the rumors that she actively practiced the forbidden arts, many mages found such attitude unacceptable, and thus viewed Ferelden almost as the second Tevinter Imperium. The cool reception they had received after arriving at Andoral's Reach also suggested that the talks would be difficult and the odds were stacked against them. The entire journey to the ancient fortress had been exceptionally trying, traversing the entire empire of Orlais, the country ravaged by unrest, and their small group was forced to constantly dodge the warring forces of different factions, now and then Cauthrien and her loyal Denerim Royal Guard dispatching some of the smaller patrols almost as if for sport, or as the general herself said, to keep their senses sharp.

Fortunately, Riona was spared from more largely unpleasant conversation with the general of Queen Maythre's armies, as the door on the opposite side of the hall opened and a group of eight mages entered, led by an elven woman, obviously Grand Enchanter Fiona herself. Riona had expected her to appear larger and more intimidating, but in truth she was a little on the short side even for an elf, one who had once been very attractive, but her comeliness had waned a little through the recent years of hardship, the look in Fiona's green eyes hard and filled with steely determination.

"Take seats, everyone," Fiona ordered unceremoniously, not bothering to approach Riona and Cauthrien for a greeting, the hall separated almost as if in two hostile territories by a massive table. "I'm sure you know who I am," she continued, sparing a brief look at Riona.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona," Riona nodded. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I'm sure," Fiona returned curtly. "With me are the remnants of the College of Enchanters." Riona smiled politely at the other men and women at the table, but only one or two returned her smile. "And you are, as I understand, the infamous Champion of Kirkwall, Riona Hawke. Some amongst us consider you a hero for what you enabled in Kirkwall... but equally many here will blame you for it."

"I was not the mage who blew up the Chantry," Riona replied, a little defensively. She hated being blamed for the actions of Anders; a mistake that was made often, just because of her status of the Champion, people automatically assumed that she was involved in everything that had happened in Kirkwall. Which was almost, but not entirely true.

"Yes, so I have heard, but the accounts of those events tend to vary wildly. In any case... I do not count myself amongst those who blame you for what happened in Kirkwall. My plan for mage independence was far less... explosive, but I never had the opportunity to implement it. Once Kirkwall happened, the only thing we could do was to capitalize upon it," Fiona explained, then narrowing her eyes at Riona again. "But dwelling on the past is pointless, what's done is done. Right now, I am more intrigued what the Champion of Kirkwall is doing here at Andoral's Reach, coming to bargain with us on behalf of the Queen of Ferelden."

"I have been living in Ferelden for a few years now," Riona replied. "It truly is a safe haven for mages. When Queen Maythre made me an offer to become her representative and come here to offer you refuge in Ferelden, I saw it as an opportunity to help my fellow mages."

"Yes... I'm sure it sounds very tempting," Fiona did not appear very impressed. "Surely you do not expect us to believe that your _benevolent_ queen will simply offer us protection without asking anything in return."

"That is how she has treated every mage seeking refuge in Ferelden," Riona answered. So far the lies were coming easily enough, though it did not seem as if Fiona and the other enchanters were swayed by her words.

"Until now," Fiona remarked. "Understand, Hawke... we are not completely without eyes in Ferelden. Even as we are cooped up here at the edge of nowhere, our ravens travel far to every corner of the world. Be careful of what you say, Champion. It would not do you any credit to be caught in a lie."

Riona felt cold sweat running down her spine at Fiona's warning, her mouth going dry and she hoped that nobody would pick up on her nervousness. "I understand, but I have said nothing but the truth so far," she replied defensively. "Why would I lie to you?"

"There could be a number of explanations for it," Fiona shrugged. "Queen Maythre is a known practitioner of blood magic. You could be under the sway of her mind control spells without even knowing it."

"I'm sure there is a way for you to detect the presence of blood magic, so you would know that this is not true," Hawke protested.

"Yes... but there could be other ways in which she has coerced you to cooperate and help advance her goals," Fiona pointed out. Her eyes drifted over to the grim Ser Cauthrien sitting next to Riona. "For some reason, I have developed an impression that you are not here through your own free will. This woman, and the elite guard she commands, are known to us, and her reputation is even darker than that of the queen she serves."

"Your accusations are as laughable as they are inaccurate," Cauthrien barged into the discussion, snapping at Fiona angrily. "Hawke is a free woman. She can rise from this table and leave at any moment, if she chooses to do so."

"Perhaps then you should do it, Hawke," Fiona smiled coldly, turning her stare back at Riona. "If you truly wish to help your kin, stay with us here, Hawke. You would make the perfect ally, a voice of reason who could prove instrumental in arranging peace treaty with the templars."

"I... am humbled by your offer, but..." Riona began, with the corner of her eye noticing the unspoken warning in Cauthrien's stare. "Ferelden is my home now, and I must return to Denerim. I was hoping that the mage rebellion would follow me and also find their home in Ferelden."

"Yes... so you have said," Fiona remarked thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. "I can see that you are a woman of great integrity and honor. There are almost a thousand mages under my responsibility here, and more arrive every day. I do not think you would be able to live with yourself if your lies got them enslaved by this blood mage queen. Can you truly promise me that my charges will be free to live as they wish, should we agree to your proposal and follow you to Ferelden? We have many reports of mages taken from the streets of Denerim and other cities by forces loyal to this woman," she nodded at Cauthrien again. "They disappear without trace, never to be heard from again. Some of them had dared to speak out against the queen prior to their disappearance. So I ask you again… can you truly guarantee our freedom?"

Riona fell silent following the Grand Enchanter's words. Of course, she knew what Maythre intended to do with the rebel mages should she succeed at bringing them to Ferelden. They would be forced to serve in the queen's army that she prepared to unleash upon Orlais, once Celene and Gaspard had sufficiently weakened each other. Perhaps some of the uncooperative ones, like Fiona herself, would disappear without a trace, but Riona truly did not know what fate befell them, though she suspected it was nothing pleasant. The rebel mages were hoping for lasting peace, but if Riona were successful, she would condemn them to fighting another war, this time not even for their own freedom, but for a power hungry madwoman who was trying to carve out an empire that would rival Tevinter. Thousand lives of her fellow mages ruined... all just to save one, simply because that one meant so much for to. Could she do it? Did she have any right to sacrifice so many to save one?

_Of course... speaking the truth would save the mages, but condemn Nathaniel to a painful death. Unless... unless I could convince the queen to let Nathaniel go and punish me instead? Yes... that is the only outcome I could live with. I thought I would be able to deceive the rebel mages, but... no, I can't do it. They have been through too much to suffer another betrayal, this time by a fellow mage. _

Riona let out a deep sigh as she opened her mouth to reply. "No, I can't truly guarantee your freedom, Grand Enchanter," she admitted, ignoring the menacing stare Cauthrien sent her. "I can't promise that you will be able to live your lives as you please if you come with me to Ferelden."

"Thank you for your honesty, Hawke," Fiona smiled at her, warmly for the first time since their introduction. "I will let you in on a secret that even you might not be aware of. There is an ugly rumor circulating in Ferelden and it concerns the mages who disappear from the streets never to be seen again. There is talk of them being put through the Rite of Tranquility at the queen's behest."

"That… that can't be right..." Riona whispered, stealing a quick glance at Cauthrien and with shock noticing that the usually stoic woman had gone deathly pale, white as chalk, nervous twitch seizing her face before she finally managed to reassert her self-control.

"Are you certain that this is impossible, or are you simply reacting with surprise?" Fiona looked at her kindly. "Look into your heart, consider what you know of Queen Maythre, and then answer me... can you imagine her doing something like this to her rivals?"

"I..." Riona hesitated a little before answering, and then lowering her head as she gave the only answer she could. "Yes... I suppose I can see that. She can be ruthless to those who dare to deny her."

"As I thought," Fiona nodded. "Allow me to once again extend an invitation for you to remain here with us. Surely you would be safer with your own kin than with that blood mage usurper."

"There is no safety within these walls and you know it," Cauthrien sprang into the discussion, sensing that Hawke had been defeated by her conscience. "Cling on to the illusion of invulnerability if you must, but know that the templars are already on their way, and once they arrive you will not be able to hold this decrepit fortress! You desperate lot have no other refuge to find than with Queen Maythre in Ferelden!"

"Ah... but the templars are no longer marching this way, Ser Cauthrien," Fiona remarked smugly. "You see, things have changed, and we are no longer a desperate lot. Perhaps if you had arrived a month ago, when we truly were at our wit's ends, we would have agreed to your offer. But now... the circumstances have changed, and there is once again hope for lasting peace. You have come too late, Ser Cauthrien. This alliance is no longer in our best interests, and so, unless Hawke has changed her mind about staying, consider yourselves dismissed."

"I'm afraid I will have to decline, Grand Enchanter," Riona smiled politely.

"Too bad," Fiona shrugged, rising from the table, the silent group of enchanters following her. "You have a quarter of an hour to remove yourselves from the premises of our fortress. Do not overstay your welcome, or else you will be evicted by force."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Grand Enchanter," Cauthrien replied coldly, her gauntleted hand seizing Riona's elbow, the armored digits crushing it painfully, almost making Hawke cry out in pain. "We would not want to stay here longer than necessary. No, we must hurry back to Denerim... there's a most entertaining execution that we must attend, isn't there, Hawke?"

Riona did not answer, merely numbly staring ahead as Cauthrien pulled her up to her feet and then proceeded to drag her out of the hall and the fortress of Andoral's Reach.

* * *

><p><em>Royal Palace, Denerim <em>

To say that Queen Maythre of Ferelden was livid once she had learned about Hawke's diplomatic failure would be like saying nothing at all. The beautiful elven mage was pacing back and forth in her favorite study at the palace's western wing, a thunderous look on her face that radiated not only anger, but also nervousness. "Did you perchance misunderstood the consequences of your failure?" she asked sharply, glaring at both Cauthrien and Hawke after the general had finished her report.

"It was Hawke's fault," Cauthrien replied, giving Riona a venomous look. "She did nothing to disparage the rebels speaking ill of Your Majesty. In fact, she went as far as to corroborate certain ugly rumors. It was no wonder that Fiona turned down our offer of hospitality, even despite my attempts to salvage the talks."

"She did say that they had a new plan to make peace with the templars," Riona spoke up quietly. "They would not have come to Ferelden no matter what I said."

"Silence!" Maythre shouted, staring Riona down, Hawke wisely deciding to keep quiet. "I am not interested in hearing excuses! I warned you what would happen should you fail, and I am not someone who goes back on a given word. Tomorrow morning you will watch Nathaniel Howe perish on the breaking wheel at Fort Drakon, and you will know that it was you who caused his suffering and death."

Riona finally lost her composure, falling to her knees in front of the queen. "Please... I beg you, Nathaniel is an innocent victim in all of this," she pleaded. "Torture me, kill me if you must, but leave him out of this!"

"Hmm… are you willing to endure suffering in his stead?" Maythre stared hard, hands on her hips, until she received a tearful nod from Riona. "What do you think, Cauthrien?" she asked, turning towards her general.

"I think she deserves this punishment more than the Howe whelp does," Cauthrien replied coldly. "Her lips are too loose and mouth too quick for its own good. Kill her or toss her in Drakon afterwards, I care not, as long as she is out of the way."

"Very well, in that case I shall accommodate both of your wishes, although after such spectacular failure, I probably should not," Maythre somehow managed to appear magnanimous when speaking those words. "Take Hawke to the courtyard and place her in the stocks. Gather the entire palace staff and the guards… good flogging requires spectators, wouldn't you say?" the queen grinned broadly. "And don't forget to bring the new cat o' nine tails, Cauthrien."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Cauthrien replied, looking pleased as she roughly dragged Hawke up to her feet and then pushed her out of the queen's study before ushering her down the stairs and into the courtyard.

It didn't take more than half an hour for a small crowd to gather around the little square in the palace courtyard where Hawke stood rigidly immobilized in the stocks. Maythre and Cauthrien stood nearby, the queen herself holding the whip, intending to carry out the punishment, something she did only on special occasions. "Bare her back, Cauthrien," the queen ordered, nodding at the general. "I would not wish to ruin those beautifully crafted robes of hers. We are not some kind of savages, are we?"

Cauthrien responded immediately, undoing the straps on the back of Riona's robe and pulling it down to her midriff, but at least leaving Riona in her smallclothes and allowing her to retain some sense of dignity, not that much would be left of it once the queen began to work the whip. Shortly afterwards, the first lash fell, painful beyond description, even if Maythre was not physically strong and could not crack the whip as masterfully as an experienced torturer. Riona suffered the first five or six lashes before crying out, but that was before the whip had managed to pierce the skin, creating the first bloody lacerations. Once the lashes began to fall where the skin was already cut, Riona could not stop herself from screaming. Even if she tried to avoid giving the queen this satisfaction, there was no way she could endure the agonizing pain, especially when after the tenth lash the queen became exhausted and passed the whip over to Cauthrien, urging her to continue.

That was when the fun truly began. The lashes came fast and furious now, raining upon her ruined, bleeding back in an almost never-ending stream, Riona's cries turning into delirious screams, Hawke trashing helplessly in the stocks, unable to escape the terrible ordeal, the pain of which was slowly bringing her to the brink of unconsciousness. Cauthrien was down to thirty lashes and Hawke's back had turned into a massive, raw wound, when the brutal punishment was interrupted by furious barking, a massive mabari hound suddenly bursting through the ranks of the spectators, savagely mutilating the arm of a brave but stupid guard who tried to stop the enraged beast. Spot, Riona's loyal mabari, arrived at the scene and leapt towards Cauthrien, the woman dodging at the last moment, lashing out with her whip that wrapped around Spot's hind legs and forced the mabari to topple on the dusty gravel of the courtyard, but it did not slow the maddened animal down, getting back on its feet quickly and starting to circle Cauthrien, glaring menacingly at the one who had dared to hurt his mistress.

"My sword, throw me my sword," Cauthrien ordered, one of the guardsmen tossing the massive Summer Sword towards her and she caught it deftly, releasing the whip as she prepared to eviscerate the angry mabari, ready to leap at her.

"I forbid you to kill the animal!" came the queen's voice, Cauthrien looking at Maythre with surprise, nearly paying for it with her life as Spot launched himself at her again, the general just barely managing to evade the snap of the mabari's jaws. "Capture it, I want the beast alive and unharmed!" the queen ordered, glaring imperiously when her otherwise loyal Royal Guard hesitated to apprehend the growling mabari.

"What are you waiting for?" Cauthrien yelled to her soldiers. "You have your orders! Obey them!"

After several minutes of bloody struggle that saw one guardsman sprawled in the gravel with his throat ripped open and another quickly bleeding to her death after Spot had tore open the guardswoman's thigh, severing some of the major blood vessels, the furious beast was finally pacified, three guards sitting on top of the defeated mabari while two others tied his legs together before carefully muzzling the animal, making sure not to lose any fingers in the process. Once the mabari had been secured, the queen gave Cauthrien a questioning stare. "How is Hawke doing, is she still conscious?" she asked.

Cauthrien walked around the stocks and unceremoniously lifted Hawke's head to make sure, Riona summoning her last ounce of strength and spitting a clot of saliva and blood in Cauthrien's face, having bitten her tongue from the insufferable pain. "You'll regret this," Cauthrien swore, walking away to pick up the whip.

"If I'm not mistaken, you got as far as thirty-two," Maythre remarked coolly. "While I'm sure that you would like to continue past forty, we will stop there. I have something else in mind that will serve as a fitting punishment for our friend... having observed the loyalty and bravery displayed by this mabari has given me a most intriguing idea."

"Don't hurt my dog..." Riona tried to exclaim with all her fading strength. "Don't you dare... hurt my Spot..."

"I am not going to hurt him, my dear Hawke," Maythre replied smugly. "But once I am done, your brave Spot will no longer be your dog. He will be my loyal mabari guardian."

"What? No! You... you can't do this!" Riona protested, struggling violently in the stocks.

"I have no wish to listen to your feeble protests, Hawke," the elven queen smirked. "Cauthrien? You may proceed."

"With pleasure," Cauthrien nodded. The final eight slashes were delivered with ferocious strength, Riona screaming in pain until she mercifully passed out, the ground surrounding the stocks glistening red with droplets of her blood.

Hawke was still hanging limply, suspended in the stocks, as Maythre approached her, hands igniting with a carefully controlled flashfire spell which she directed at Riona's back, cauterizing the raw, bleeding flesh, in the process creating scars that would never completely fade. Fortunately for her, Hawke had lost consciousness some time earlier and did not feel the excruciating pain of her back being set on fire. "Take her away," Maythre ordered, stepping away from the stocks. "Throw her in the deepest pits of Drakon until further notice."

The Royal Guard reacted more swiftly this time, removing Riona's limp body from the stocks and unceremoniously carrying her away, others ordering the palace staff to disperse, only a small regiment of soldiers together with Maythre remaining as she sat down in the gravel next to the bound mabari, petting the animal's coarse fur in a way that appeared gentle, but Spot must have sensed that the regal looking woman did not have noble intentions, for the frightened animal was whimpering and trying to withdraw but to no avail.

"Don't worry, gentle beast, this won't hurt a bit," Maythre smiled, swiftly producing a small dagger and making a shallow incision in her palm, the blood starting to flow as she began to concentrate and draw upon her mastery of blood magic, reaching out to seek the mabari's simple mind, her will wrapping around it like suffocating tendrils, creating a spider web of corruptive influence. She was surprised to discover that Hawke apparently didn't even know proper imprinting spells to bind a mabari, making the task of rewriting the beast's ownership even simpler.

Still, the beast had developed a surprising amount of loyalty towards his mistress even without proper imprinting, and Maythre now used the power of her blood magic to crush the beast's simple mind, to corrupt and erase the feelings he harbored towards his previous mistress. The ruthless blood mage would not allow anything to distract her in this task, not even the heartbreaking reaction of the frightened creature, struggling to crawl away from his would-be owner, whining and whimpering as Maythre picked apart the mabari's mind, the suffering beast eventually abandoning his resistance, the fear and mental violation causing Spot to lose control of his bladder and urinate uncontrollably on the queen's white dress, but she did not allow even such unpleasantness to make her pause, not stopping until Spot's mind was wiped and reset back to a clean slate, ready for new imprinting. It did not take her more than a minute to finish the relatively simple process of binding the animal's broken will to her and complete the successful reprinting.

"Untie the beast," the queen spoke, stoically stepping away once she was done, wiping her bloody palm on her white dress and ignoring that the lower part of it was soaking wet with mabari piss.

"Are you sure it is wise, my queen?" Cauthrien asked cautiously, but then complied immediately having noticed that the mabari now looked completely pacified, lying limp and apathetic. Once she had untangled the rope that was binding its paws and removed the muzzle, the mabari slowly got up to his feet and somewhat fearfully approached Maythre before dropping down at her feet, rolling over on his back and presenting his exposed belly in a sign of complete and utter submission.

"That's a good boy... aren't you, oh yes, you are... and unlike some in my service, he knows his place," Maythre chuckled victoriously as she bent down to rub the beast's belly with what almost looked like genuine affection on her face. "Now only the final task remains," the queen finished with a hearty laugh. "And that is to select a new name. 'Spot' just simply will not do for the royal mabari of the Queen of Ferelden!"

* * *

><p>Her Majesty Queen Maythre slipped out of the massive royal bed and casually threw a loose robe over her slowly cooling alabaster white skin, still slightly damp with perspiration. She stole a quick glance back at the bed, but Cauthrien hadn't moved, fast asleep following their session of lovemaking. Most of the time, Maythre ordered her trusted general to return to her own chambers following those rare occasions on which she felt compelled to experience pleasures of the flesh, but this time, the usually stoic queen had actually insisted on Cauthrien staying after she had fulfilled her duty and satisfied the needs of her queen.<p>

It was... difficult to admit to herself, but Maythre felt deeply worried, needing the comforting embrace of the only one in Thedas that she could trust. Not that Cauthrien's presence would have mattered much if the one whose ire she had invoked would come to punish her. _Flemeth. Mother. I have failed in the task she set before me, and now she will surely deliver on her threats to possess my body and take it for her own. _

Maythre did not even know why Flemeth had tasked her to wage war on Orlais, to look for an opportune moment during the civil war and to strike hard, she could not imagine her mother having a particular grudge towards an entire country, but Flemeth's motivations were always a puzzle to everyone. What mattered, though, was that her only chance to successfully strike at the Orlesians was through the alliance with the rebel mages, and Hawke's failure had doomed all her preparations for war. _And now my mother will come to possess me, to devour my spirit, all through the failure of that fool woman! I have gone through so much to rid myself from the darkspawn taint, to extend my lifespan to that of the ancient elves from legends, and yet it will be all for naught if Flemeth simply... devours me. It is not fair... not fair! _

Oh, she had not meant to punish Hawke as harshly as she had done, and by now Maythre was already having seconds thoughts about the cruelty of her actions, but the regret did not linger for too long. She was fully entitled to feel angry because Hawke had very likely ensured her death at the hands of Flemeth. Certainly, through her recent actions she had made a lifelong enemy in Hawke, but that all was irrelevant now. Flemeth would come soon, and neither she nor Cauthrien could do anything to protect the queen from her mother's wrath.

_If only I had some means to crawl back into the world of living like my mother does! What good is my extended lifespan if someone more powerful can still destroy me at will!_ The queen thought with frustration, an idea suddenly popping in her head, making her eyes snap wide with realization. _Maybe... maybe there is a way! Perhaps I can learn mother's tricks! The grimoire... I made a copy of it before handing it to Morrigan, and it is still somewhere amongst my belongings. Perhaps I can find a key to Flemeth's secrets in the grimoire! I know it described several curious elven artifacts... perhaps one of them might serve as a key to anchor my spirit to the material world? I have many mages at my disposal, I can send them to every elven ruin known to man and have them try and dig up these artifacts for me. If Flemeth thinks I am simply going to sit and wait for her to come and devour me, then she is gravely mistaken. I do not intend to leave this mortal life without a good amount of kicking and screaming... _

* * *

><p><em>Fort Drakon, Denerim <em>

Deep in the bowels of the imposing prison of Fort Drakon, its latest inhabitant rested on her side in the uncomfortable bunk of her solitary cell, Riona Hawke gently probing the still painful, barely healed skin on her badly scarred back, bitter tears running down her cheeks as for the first time in her life she felt utterly and completely helpless, abandoned and alone with her grim, depressing thoughts.

Riona thought of Spot, her loyal mabari friend, precious gift as a little puppy from Varric, her old love, the poor dog now brainwashed and forced to serve the bitch queen that had dared to usurp the throne of Ferelden.

Riona thought of Nathaniel, the man she loved, the man who had done so much for her, but had suffered imprisonment simply for associating with her, locked up somewhere nearby in the same prison, but of course their cruel captors would never allow them to see each other no matter how much Riona would beg them.

Riona thought of Bethany, her beloved sister of whom she had heard no news for several years, but she had spent her days with a deeply rooted belief that she and her gentle, caring sibling would one day be reunited again. As grim as her current situation was, this belief refused to abandon her completely, and it was perhaps the only thing that made her cling on to hope and sanity.

Most of all, however, Riona dreamed of one day wrapping her hands around the pristine neck of Queen Maythre and squeezing down hard, savoring the gurgles of the hated elven mage until life left her wretched frame. As time went by, all other thoughts slowly began to wane while this particular fantasy grew in strength, slowly consuming her with a singular purpose... revenge for what had been done to her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Land of Shadows, The Crossroads_

The shimmering surface of the arch-shaped gateway rippled with a short burst of magical energy, tiny cracks forming along the glowing barrier... but then the cracks resealed, the powerful magic of the barrier causing it to mend itself and the gateway remained closed, much to the frustration of the robed elven man standing in front of the locked eluvian. In his hand, he held a glowing orb, crackling with magic beyond the ken of most mortals, but even this powerful artifact appeared incapable of summoning enough energy to dismiss the barrier that sealed the eluvian. The man muttered something unintelligible under his breath, recomposed himself and began to chant again, an ancient ritual to draw upon the energy of the foci orb and direct it at the barrier, but it was all to no avail. After several exhausting attempts, the energy surrounding the orb fizzled and died off, leaving the man with no other option than to sink to the ground in defeat.

"Why did I have to slumber for so long?" he lamented in a voice full of sadness. "How could I... simply dream away for centuries while the people I thought to save, to deliver from their oppressors, suffered horribly without my guidance... and now I find myself too weak to undo the horrible mistake I've made. Yes... the people are not what they once were, they have completely lost their way, but... is that not through my failure as well? I must find a way to help them... to restore them to what they once were."

He knew that he was too weak to open the eluvian and undo the terrible mistake he had committed eons ago, that much was clear, but it did not dissuade him from returning to the place of his failure to try again and again. It was also becoming increasingly obvious that accruing more power all by himself to be able to energize and use the foci orb would take a great amount of time, time that his much suffering people did not have. He needed power, more power... it did not have to come from him, in theory, someone exceptionally powerful could aid him in rejuvenating the foci orb, but... who would willingly give of themselves just so that he could use their power to help his people?

There was one, he supposed... the one who should have been imprisoned with the others, but before he had managed to put his plan into action, she had been struck down through plotting of those who his people these days called the Forgotten Ones. He hadn't forgotten them... nor had he forgotten her, the one who called herself the Great Protector. But did she feel the same way he did towards the fate of their people? Would she consent to helping him? Would she give of herself, would she join her power with his to break the barrier and release the others? On this last point, he was very doubtful... but it was not as if he had any other options.

It was decided, then. He would ask Mythal for her aid in helping their people. He could only hope that the Great Protector would forgive her Dread Wolf for the mistakes of his past.

* * *

><p><em>Deep in the Korcari Wilds <em>

Finding the abandoned, old shack, standing untouched for many years in the midst of the Korcari Wilds had not presented any problems for someone like him. Likewise, the waiting itself was not the hard part. He simply tucked himself away comfortably in a bed of wildflowers and escaped into the Beyond where more and more amazing stories awaited his discovery. No, the worst part was the doubt of whether she would respond to his plea for help and come to meet him, and this doubt was nagging at him even as he traversed the Fade and spoke with the many spirits that called him a friend, an honor he often felt undeserving of.

Days might have passed, perhaps even weeks, while slumbering in the Fade he was not aware of the passage of time, but eventually he was alerted to something in the mortal realm, a sound like sweeping of great wings above him in the air, creating a gust of wind that was strong enough to easily snap some of the dry branches of the nearby trees. He slowly shook himself out of his Fade slumber, hearing soft footsteps of someone approaching him, only then opening his eyes to be confronted with a very surprising sight. It was definitely her, he would recognize his old acquaintance in any shape or form, but he had not expected her to appear as an elderly, but still imperious looking human woman, her white hair styled in a way to mirror the horns of a great dragon.

"Ah... so it is true. You are the one they call Solas... I should have known that only you would choose such a name for yourself," the woman laughed loudly as she approached, stopping only to wait until he finally rose back up to his feet. "I heard rumors of your return... of your work to undo what you probably consider a great mistake."

"Honored Mythal," Solas bowed his head before one of those his people had worshipped as their Creators. "How could I not consider it a tragic mistake? Tell me, does the fate of our people not concern you when you look upon them now?"

"As passionate as ever about the fortunes of our people," Mythal, or Flemeth as she was known to those few of this day and age who were actually aware of her existence, responded. "You have not changed one bit, my darling Wolf."

"Of course not," Solas, or Fen'Harel, replied heatedly. "But you did not answer my question."

"No, I did not," Flemeth smiled enigmatically. "To answer you, yes, their fate does not please me. But they are partly to blame for it themselves, though I do not expect you to agree. You were always so brash... so idealistic. Still... so much has happened since you fell into your slumber, and the fate of the people is only one of my many concerns."

"What could be more important than restoring the glory of the Elvhenan?" Solas blurted out passionately.

"It would take too much time to explain," Flemeth replied. "And I don't think that someone who is so single-mindedly focused on helping the People would care..."

"Tell me, Mythal, please, so I can understand," Solas requested humbly.

"It is not relevant to what we have to discuss right now," Flemeth spoke impatiently. "After the plot on my life as Mythal succeeded, my spirit traveled the Beyond, seeking for someone able and worthy enough to possess. I sought out a human woman, a powerful mage, and in her shape I tried to do all that I could to elevate myself back to godhood, this time amongst humans. My attempt was successful, but... it is not I who has benefitted from these events. The legend has been twisted and perverted beyond recognition... and most of my ire is directed towards those who to this day still benefit from these lies. If these humans knew what truly happened... but no, they would never accept it as the truth. The best I can do is to bring down those who still thrive by purporting these falsehoods. Ah... but listen to me rant... my dear Wolf, none of this must have made any sense to you."

"Perhaps not, but I must still ask... will aid my efforts of helping our people?" Solas asked.

"You want my help in opening the eluvian and releasing the others, yes?" Flemeth looked at him curiously, the elven man nodding fervently at that. "And how, exactly, do you envision me helping you in this task?"

In response, the Dread Wolf produced the depleted foci orb and presented it to Mythal. "As you can clearly see, I lack the power to do it on my own. I was hoping..."

"That I would give of myself?" Flemeth laughed. "I care for those who were once my people, but... not that much, not anymore."

"So... you won't help?" Solas asked, looking greatly disapproving.

"I will, if I can come up with a way to do so without sacrificing what power I have left," Flemeth replied. "The orb needs power... but it does not need to be all yours. Nor does it have to be mine..."

"But who in this world possesses that kind of power?" Solas wondered.

"It is funny that you should say so..." Flemeth clicked her tongue mysteriously. "I have been watching the reemergence of a creature most... intriguing and powerful. I believe they would possess the power to restore your depleted orb, my dear Wolf. But this creature is vile, unreasonable and power-hungry... he will not help us just because we ask politely."

"They do not sound like someone I would trust with the orb," Solas frowned. "With it, they could tear asunder the world that I am trying to preserve for our people."

"Oh, it would be very dangerous, indeed," Flemeth replied thoughtfully. "My own orb was destroyed upon my 'assassination', but I still remember the way they functioned. If we could simply persuade this powerful creature to activate and use the orb, their power would rejuvenate it and the foci would be able to serve the purpose for which it was created. We would only have to wrestle the orb away from this creature after it had used it."

"You make it sound so easy," Solas remarked.

"I don't believe that it will be easy, but... do you have any alternatives?" Flemeth asked challengingly.

"I will have to think about it some more, honored Mythal," Solas spoke thoughtfully.

"And I will have to further refine the specifics of my plan," Flemeth, or Mythal, replied. "I propose that we meet here in three days after the fall of night. I will tell you what I intend in greater detail... and then it will be up to you to decide whether you find my idea acceptable or not. Do you agree to this course of action?"

"I do," Solas, or Fen'Harel, nodded. "It will give me time to consider alternatives to this risky venture that you propose. If I fail to come up with another plan on my own... then we will do as you propose, honored Protector," he added.

"Then it is decided. We meet here in three day's time," Flemeth grinned. The enigmatic, slightly smug smile on her lips should have made Fen'Harel nervous, if only he had been aware of just how much the one he had known as Mythal had changed over the centuries of his slumber...

* * *

><p><em>Corypheus' Lair, Deep Roads<em>

Infiltrating the massive underground complex in the Deep Roads near the Tevinter city of Perivantium had posed no difficulties for Flemeth. The ranks of Corypheus' army swelled with every day, either through those he had corrupted with various means, or those like the Venatori cultists who arrived in large groups to willingly pledge themselves in the service of the ancient magister. The appearance of yet another mage, her face obscured by the hood of her heavy robes, went largely unnoticed by the others, not that anyone would recognize her, especially now that she had disposed of her elaborate hairstyle and altered her appearance slightly.

Of course, just as she had predicted, Fen'Harel had been forced to agree with her plan simply because her idealistic Dread Wolf could not think of an alternative course of action. The time it took Fen'Harel to reach his decision also gave Flemeth the opportunity to refine her plan down to the tiniest detail, and once the Wolf had given her the approval to proceed, Flemeth was ready to immediately put her elaborate plan into action, the high dragon form swiftly carrying her to the Deep Roads entrance near Perivantium.

She had learned of the emergence of this Corypheus soon after his escape from the prison of Vimmark Mountains. At first she had treated the ancient magister as a potential minor annoyance worth keeping an eye on, but as of late, Corypheus had increased the activity of his operations in earnest. Working slowly and meticulously, the magister was gathering an army that would be capable to challenge and succeed against any empire of Thedas. Still, all this would have been irrelevant to Flemeth. Some decrepit magister looking to restore the glory days of Ancient Tevinter and decimating Orlais or Nevarra? Those were not wars she particularly cared about. No, her attention turned to Corypheus in earnest due to one particular event that angered Flemeth greatly. Corypheus had discovered red lyrium, and was now actively using it to corrupt others and bind them to his service. He had even found a way to produce red lyrium in large quantities, feeding some of his servants with the corrupted substance and facilitating the growth of red lyrium in the host bodies, eventually always leading to horrifically painful, grotesque deaths.

There was a reason why Flemeth was so vehemently angered by Corypheus' use of red lyrium, and the explanation was simple. Red lyrium was supposed to be her secret, her tool. She had manipulated the events to make sure that the red lyrium idol from the primordial thaig fell into the hands of Bartrand Tethras, simply because she needed someone to carry the corruptive substance to the surface, Flemeth not daring to handle the dangerous red lyrium herself, not in large amounts. She had made sure that the idol later made its way to Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, paving the way to the bloody resolution of a violent conflict at the Gallows of Kirkwall. And she had given Riona Hawke the means to stop Meredith with blood magic, completing the chain of events that should have delivered a decisive blow to the Chantry. And it had worked out as she had planned... almost, but now the emergence of this Corypheus was upsetting the carefully weaved web that she had spun. And Flemeth did not like that... no, she did not like that at all. She hated not being in control of the events, and thus, if Corypheus would threaten her plans, then there could be only one response. He needed to be controlled, manipulated... he had to become the variable that she could control. And Flemeth believed that she knew of a way to achieve this.

Over the past few days, Flemeth had quietly observed the servants of Corypheus, searching for someone who would suit her needs, someone ambitious and eager to elevate themselves to the higher ranks of the magister's lieutenants. It did not take her long to spot a promising candidate, one of the female slaves who had been brought here by her master, this particular woman showing great dedication in even the most mundane tasks, desperately hoping to get noticed and advance amongst the Venatori, an old and secret Tevinter cult that had formed almost at the same time as the Chantry, rejecting the Andrastian faith and the existence of the Maker. After learning the woman's name, Calpernia, and having awaited the perfect moment when the ambitious slave rested between her chores, Flemeth decided to approach the woman and put her plan in action.

"Slave," Flemeth began as she approached the weary looking woman, speaking with the kind of an authority that made her appear greatly important in the organization built by Corypheus. "Your name is Calpernia, is it not?"

Calpernia was immediately convinced by her imposing appearance, bowing deeply to Flemeth. "That is correct... magister?" she spoke uncertainly, looking a little surprised when Flemeth nodded at her. "I apologize... not many magisters bother to learn the names of their slaves... and you are not even my master."

"We have only one master here, and that is our Lord Corypheus," Flemeth replied imperiously. "And we are all his servants, our task to prove ourselves to him daily in whatever capacity we can. My task is to watch our ranks for talented individuals with potential to become more in the new world order that Corypheus will deliver. And I have been watching you, Calpernia."

"You have?" the woman asked, blushing with hope and pride. "Does my dedication please the master?"

"I am our master's eyes in this, and I do say that your dedication is admirable," Flemeth nodded approvingly. "I believe that you have the potential to rise high in our ranks, Calpernia. Does that interest you?"

"Of... of course!" Calpernia exclaimed. "But... why would you help a lowly slave, my lady?"

"It does not matter whether you are a slave or not. As I said before, my task is to find and promote those with potential," Flemeth explained patiently. "If those I choose do well, I am rewarded. If they fail, I am punished. If I did not believe that you would succeed, we would not be speaking right now."

"Then I thank you for your trust, my lady," Calpernia bowed deeply. "I will do my best not to disappoint you _and_ our master."

"I trust that you will not," Flemeth smiled magnanimously. "Still... even if our master cares little whether you are a slave or not, others still might do. If you could do something that would greatly please our master and impress the others, it would give more credibility to your rise in our ranks."

"But what could I possibly do to make the master take notice?" the slave woman asked. "Our Lord Corypheus is above these mundane tasks and will not notice whether the pans and pots are scrubbed clean or the floors shine with polish."

"Indeed, and you are wise to realize this," Flemeth nodded. "But I can help you. You have heard about the elven ruins nearby the Deep Roads entrance, have you not?" Calpernia nodded quickly. "At our lord's behest, I led a small expedition there that recovered valuable lore and relics... but I made sure to leave one or two fascinating trinkets behind. Amongst them was a magical orb that would be of particular interest to Lord Corypheus."

"And I could just... go there and recover this orb, is that what you are saying, my lady?" Calpernia asked, for the first time looking a little suspicious. "Forgive me for saying so, but... why would you do this for me? How do I know this is not some sort of a trap?"

Flemeth let out a mirthful laugh. "Oh, aren't you precious? Do you truly consider yourself important enough to lure into such an elaborate trap? Why would I do that when I could simply kill you right here and now, and nobody would bat an eyelid?"

"I... yes, of course, it was foolish of me to question your benevolence, my lady," Calpernia said, looking ashamed. "But why would you not deliver the orb to Lord Corypheus yourself? You could gain so much power and prestige! And what is the purpose of the orb, do you know that?"

"I already enjoy complete trust of our master, I would not increase my status any further by delivering the orb... but I can use it to help a promising hopeful such as you. That is more beneficial to me," Flemeth explained. "As for what it does... I am not quite certain, but I know that similar orbs have been used to open ancient elven gateways... perhaps even grant an entrance into the Fade. These items are powerful indeed."

"In that case, I should depart immediately, my lady... what if the orb falls into the hands of someone else while we wait?" Calpernia spoke resolutely.

"Yes, do so, young one, but allow me to impart one last bit of advice your way," Flemeth spoke, stopping the slave woman who was already rushing to depart. "After you deliver the orb to our lord and master, he will be looking for an opportunity to use it. A congregation of wretched templars and our pathetic, oppressed southern mage kin will take place soon. Even their false Divine plans to attend this so called Conclave of theirs."

"Both Divines are equally false," Calpernia replied predictably, according to the Venatori doctrine.

"Of course, but this would still provide our lord and master with the perfect target, would you not agree?" Flemeth asked teasingly. "Suggest this opportunity to our Lord Corypheus, and I promise that you will be rewarded."

"Well... I suppose that makes sense," the slave woman spoke, even if she did not look completely convinced. "I still think that you are doing... an awful lot for a complete stranger... and I mean no disrespect by it, my lady."

"I take no offense, young one," Flemeth laughed amiably. "But you really need to stop looking a gift bronto in the mouth."

"The thing is... nobody has ever given me a gift bronto before... or any gift for that matter," Calpernia muttered.

"In your place, I would be suspicious as well," Flemeth nodded sympathetically. "But do go and scour the elven ruins. When you discover the orb, you will see that I have not deceived you. Hurry now, young one! You will find it in one of the crypts of the lower reaches." _Just where my Wolf... or Solas, as he prefers to be called now, has planted it. _

"I will go, yes. It is not as if I have anything to lose," Calpernia replied resolutely, giving her a grateful stare. "I thank you for giving me this opportunity, my lady. If your words prove true, I will be forever grateful to you."

After the slave woman had departed, there was no longer any reason for Flemeth to remain at the compound. Nobody stepped forth to question her as she began the slow trek towards the exit from the Deep Roads, the old Witch of the Wilds smirking in satisfaction at how smoothly the events had progressed thus far. Certainly, neither she nor Solas knew exactly what would happen once Corypheus used the orb. Her Dread Wolf probably hoped that the magister would simply empower it while experimenting with the elven artifact, but... Flemeth saw no way to benefit from such a development, not when she could turn Corypheus against the attempts of the wretched Chantry to recover from the brink of collapse. If she could have Corypheus destroy this Conclave and put an end to the Chantry's hopes of restoring order... then her plans would be well served. How to deal with Corypheus later... Flemeth was not overly concerned with that.

_As always, some intrepid mortal hero will rise to vanquish the ancient evil threatening the end of the world as we know it. This cliché is as predictable as anything. Perhaps I will even subtly aid them to bring down Corypheus... whatever happens, I am certain that it will prove interesting to observe and manipulate... _

* * *

><p><em>Royal Palace, Denerim <em>

Queen Maythre of Ferelden let out a delicate yawn, setting aside one of the many books of elven lore that her agents had recovered over the last few weeks. While it did not provide any immediate answers to the challenges she was facing, it made for interesting reading and yielded several worthwhile clues that she made sure to file away for later use. But now, at this late hour when the Royal Palace was sinking in silence and the only noises were the howling of the wind and the sound of raindrops getting pelted against the windows of her room, Maythre was starting to slowly fall asleep at the end of another taxing day for the frustrated ruler of Ferelden.

She stood from the elaborate ironwood desk on the side of the room opposite to her bed, stretched lightly as another yawn escaped her lips, the queen turning around to proceed towards the bed. As she did so, her stare passed the large glass doors leading out to the balcony, and at that very moment, lightning crackle outside illuminated the figure of someone familiar, standing on the balcony. Frozen in panic, Maythre failed to even move for a while, long enough for Flemeth to open the balcony doors and step inside, the old Witch of the Wilds flashing a brilliant smile at her oft rebellious daughter.

Finally, Maythre sprang into action, not intending to give up her life cheaply. A shimmering barrier surrounded her lithe frame as she grabbed her staff and assumed a battle stance, glaring at her mother and readying herself to counter anything that Flemeth would throw at her. Strangely enough, Flemeth did not move to attack, instead starting to laugh, a reaction that annoyed Maythre so much that the defiant queen launched an icy missile at her mother, more to test her than to actually hurt her, the winter's grasp spell bouncing off uselessly from whatever invisible barrier was protecting Flemeth.

"This is ridiculous," Flemeth snapped, her mirthful laughter fading quickly. With a flick of her wrist, Maythre's mage staff was pulled from her hands and launched to the other side of the room. "Stop demeaning yourself. You are, after all, my daughter, no matter how much you might wish that it wouldn't be true. I suggest that you act with the dignity that I expect of my progeny."

Maythre blinked, feeling utterly confused from the way her mother was behaving. "You... you have not come to kill me?" she finally managed, barely capable of stringing together a coherent sentence.

"Not today," Flemeth chuckled. "And perhaps not for a while, but only if you do as you are told," she added, sensing that Maythre was still too terrified to be of any use for her. "Even though I should punish you severely for your failure."

"It was not my fault, mother!" Maythre exclaimed, looking ready to throw herself on her knees before Flemeth, but then recalling her mother's reminder for her to act with dignity, and stopping herself with a sheer force of will. "The failure was all Hawke's, a failure for which she has been severely punished. It is only because of her did I fail to secure the alliance with the rebel mages!"

"Perhaps you should have not been so hasty in punishing her," Flemeth shook her head. "The situation has changed, and so our plans must change with it. 'Tis good fortune that the rebel mages were not swayed by Hawke's attempts at diplomacy."

"Never mind Hawke now," Maythre replied, knowing that the Champion of Kirkwall would have to remain imprisoned. After what she had done to the woman, Maythre knew perfectly well that they were past the stage where things could be fixed by releasing Hawke and apologizing to her. "What are you saying, mother? Am I not to strike at the distracted Orlesians?"

"Absolutely not," Flemeth shook her head. "Are you even aware of what is happening in the country you are supposed to be ruling?" Maythre's only response was a blank stare. "Do you know what is happening at Haven?"

Maythre looked completely bewildered at the surprising question. "What could possibly be happening at Haven?" she blinked. "That dismal village is entirely beneath my notice."

"Then perhaps that should change," Flemeth gave her daughter the kind of stare that made Maythre cringe with fear. "The Divine is planning to hold peace talks between mages and templars at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I believe you consider this wretched place a part of Ferelden, do you not?"

"It **is** a part of Ferelden!" Maythre looked furious. "This is an unsanctioned invasion upon my lands, and I will not stand for it! I will mobilize my army and remove them from our territories immediately."

"Such is your right, o' mighty ruler of Ferelden," Flemeth replied mockingly. "However, I strongly suggest that you let this Conclave to proceed."

"Why? Why would I do that?" Maythre challenged.

"Because... I have a reason to suspect that... something might happen during the Conclave," Flemeth smiled. "And when it does... it would not be beneficial for your armies to be anywhere close to Haven."

"You know more than you are telling me," the queen crossed her arms on her chest.

"Don't I always?" the old Witch of the Wilds chuckled. "You would do well to heed my advice, however. Have your armies battle ready, have your eyes watching what transpires in Haven, but hold your forces back until I tell you otherwise. Do this, and I might forget your previous failures and your displays of defiance."

"I... very well, I will do as you ask, mother," Maythre bowed her head. "Ah, and now I see... these talks at Haven is why Fiona dismissed Hawke's offer. Perhaps... perhaps I should not have been so harsh with the Champion, but... there's nothing to do about it now."

"I do not foresee her having a role in the events to come," Flemeth shrugged. "Do as you wish with Hawke. She was useful, and even pleasant to deal with, but her fate holds no interest to me anymore."

"You know what is going to happen, don't you?" Maythre asked, looking a little frustrated. "I wish you would tell me more of what to expect."

"The orders you have received will suffice for now," Flemeth replied, apparently enjoying to further frustrate her rebellious daughter. "I can tell you one thing, though. If everything goes according to how I have envisioned it, then the Chantry will be dealt a blow from which it will never recover."

"You have never explained what is your exact grudge with the Chantry," Maythre remarked, her curiosity roused to the extreme.

"No, I have not," Flemeth replied enigmatically, turning around and stepping back out into the rain on the balcony. Before leaving, however, she turned her head to look at Maythre one final time. "If you display the proper obedience, perhaps one day you shall know the truth... but like everyone else, I doubt you will ever be able to accept it."

And then she was gone, with the flapping sounds of large, leathery wings, the next crackle of lightning illuminating the shape of a massive dragon against the night sky, leaving Maythre standing at the opened glass doors and shivering both from the chilly wind as well as from the knowledge that Flemeth had given her what was surely the last chance to appease her terrible mother.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Abyssal Reach, Orlais_

The endless sea of sand was stretching all around them for as far as their eyes could see, even after they had been walking for what felt like an eternity. They had left the eluvian cave far behind by now, even if the pace of their journey was slow, hindered by the serious injury that Morrigan had sustained and that had left her greatly weakened. Under normal circumstances, she would have escaped her current predicament quickly, shape-shifting into a mighty falcon or a swift raven, but she was far too weakened to attempt casting of such complicated spells.

To their right, the frightening view of the Abyssal Reach less than hundred yards away was a constant companion. Ahead of them, a large and by now a constant dot on the horizon was Fortress Adamant, hopefully the key to their salvation. To Morrigan, the sight almost reminded of the Black City whenever she wandered the Fade in her dreams, but fortunately the dot representing the ancient Warden fortress was growing larger as they walked on, unlike the illusive Black City, always appearing at a constant distance in the Fade, far from anyone who wished to reach it.

Next to her, the young elven mage walked briskly, always keeping an eye out on her, and not without good reason. Morrigan had stumbled and fallen several times along the way, and always Merrill had been there to help her get back to her feet, the young elf refusing to abandon her. Morrigan hated her own weakness, even if this time it was not through any fault of hers, and knowing that she was largely dependant upon Merrill's kindness occasionally made her snap at the elf more harshly than she had intended. The elven mage endured her outbursts without showing any emotion, as if she understood perfectly well why Morrigan was acting as she did, the raven-haired witch eventually reining in her temper and forcing herself to tolerate Merrill's kindness without any scathing retorts, deep down feeling grateful for the help without of which she would have surely perished.

"Does it still hurt a lot?" Merrill asked after they had been walking several hours in complete silence.

The fingers of Morrigan's left hand were immediately drawn to the ugly, poorly healed scar between her breasts, tracing the sore, still reddened skin that cried for proper treatment. "Not so much," she replied slowly. "Only if I make sudden movements... or do any kind of stretching. Walking is fine, though."

"Good... that is good," Merrill replied absentmindedly, looking relieved, her eyes chained to the horizon and the Warden fortress, growing larger and larger in the distance, the two women walking at a slightly swifter pace than usually, their spirits buoyed by the sight.

"We have enough provisions for... how many meals?" Morrigan inquired after a fair bit of more walking.

"Only one, I'm afraid... but we're getting close and shouldn't need more than that," Merrill replied hopefully. "If needed, I can skip a meal. You need sustenance more than I do," she added. Morrigan strongly suspected that Merrill had already skipped some of her meals during the previous days, a thought that made her angry because she hadn't asked the elf for this kind of noble sacrifice.

"I feel stronger today," Morrigan spoke, not even lying, not entirely. "We will get to the fortress by nightfall, you'll see."

"At times like these, I wish I had allowed Keeper Marethari to teach me some basic healing spells, instead of pushing so hard to seek my own path," Merrill sighed. "Oh, of course, if only we had some healing herbs I could make a salve or a poultice... but that is pointless to think about. There are no herbs to find anywhere in this barren wasteland," the elf looked around the sea of sand, not a hint of vegetation nearby. And even if there were any herbs to pick or game to hunt, Morrigan would not risk consuming the offerings from a land that was likely blighted from all the darkspawn crawling around the Abyssal Rift, tainting everything for many miles.

"That I could do myself as well, if only we had the ingredients," Morrigan replied. "Perhaps something will be left behind at the fortress. Wardens usually leave caches for cases of emergency. I learned as much while traveling with their kind." In truth, Morrigan was only trying to fill herself, them both, with some hope, even if it was a slim one. She did not want to imagine the horrible scenario of struggling all the way to the fortress and then dying there from starvation.

"I don't remember Anders mentioning anything like that," Merrill shrugged. "Then again, he wasn't a very good Warden. When he wasn't complaining about the templars, sure enough he was ranting about the Grey Wardens. He was a good healer, though... but I don't think he would have taught me healing spells, even if I had asked. Bethany would... but I never thought to ask..."

"'Tis not the first time you mention this Bethany," Morrigan remarked. "Were the two of you good friends back in Kirkwall, I take it?"

"Umm... more than friends, actually," Merrill admitted with a deep blush. Morrigan had already guessed that from the way the elf always let out a longing sigh whenever invoking the name of her lover, but she had wanted Merrill to be the one to reveal the full truth. "Actually..." Merrill added a little later, stealing a quick glance at Morrigan. "If you'd let your hair grow longer... and if you'd smile and laugh more… and were generally a little... kinder... you'd remind me a lot of Bethany."

"So what you're trying to say is that we're nothing alike," Morrigan chuckled, wincing as the brief laughter alone caused a sharp spike of pain shooting through her chest.

"Uh, I... no, I mean..." Merrill stuttered, her blush deepening even more. "I'm sure you're a very nice person underneath all that... umm, tough exterior. Perhaps like Aveline? Yes... maybe like Aveline... in a way..." the elf continued to ramble.

"Another friend of yours?" Morrigan asked, Merrill giving a quick nod. The conversation died off soon after that, Morrigan beginning to feel a little exhausted already and having to focus on walking in order not to miss a step and fall, trying to hide her growing weakness especially when she had just claimed that she was feeling stronger compared to the day before. She heroically endured another hour before calling on Merrill to stop and asking for the lone flask of water they shared between them, the elf only too happy to accommodate for her needs and take a little break from walking.

"Look at the fortress and tell me what you see, Merrill," Morrigan said suddenly, once she had spent some time drinking, slowly savoring each sip of the precious water. "Do my eyes deceive me, or... do you see it as well?"

"See what?" Merrill asked, then peering into the distance. "Oh, you mean the flags? Yes, I see them as well. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Well... I wouldn't have expected any flags to be raised at an abandoned fortress," Morrigan replied. "Perhaps the Grey Warden flag might have been left behind, but that is unlikely as well. But here I can see at least two flags, yes?" Merrill nodded at that. "That means... the fortress might not be abandoned at all..."

"That's good news, isn't it?" Merrill asked hopefully.

"Let's hope so..." Morrigan muttered quietly before passing the flask back to the elf. "Let's hope so..."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, after the night had already fallen, the two women were still walking on, the fortress now seemingly only an arm's reach away, and despite being in horrible pain and suffering from enormous exhaustion, Morrigan stubbornly refused to listen to Merrill and take one final stop now that they were so close to their goal. By now, they could also see fires being lit inside the ancient fortress, another clear sign that hopefully benevolent forces once again occupied Adamant. Just before the fall of the night, Morrigan had been able to identify the flags raised in the masts at the fortress, one displaying the mighty gryphon, a symbol of the Grey Wardens, the other featuring a masked face upon an a red and white background, representing the Empire of Orlais. This revelation had spurred them both onwards with renewed hope.<p>

Gritting her teeth, Morrigan endured the next half an hour it took for them to complete the final mile of their journey, but only mere yards from the massive iron gate barring their entry into the ancient fortress, she finally succumbed and slid down to her knees in complete and utter exhaustion. Merrill bent down to briefly check upon her, but with her last ounce of strength Morrigan batted the elf away, gesturing towards the gate. The elf, much to her credit, responded instantly and ran up to the gate, starting to bang on it with her fists, all the while shouting for help and hoping that someone would hear her. When several minutes later the iron gate finally began to rise, Morrigan had recovered enough of her lost strength to get back up to her feet, not wanting to face the garrison of the fortress while sitting on her knees in the sand.

The gate went all the way up, but instead of a large and armed welcoming party it revealed a single warrior, dressed in full Grey Warden garb, the man's sword remaining peacefully in the hilt at his hip as he confidently stepped forward, hopefully to welcome them... only to suddenly freeze after laying his eyes upon Morrigan, appearing completely and utterly shocked. "Oh, Maker..." the man groaned in a pained voice. "Not you again..."

Morrigan could only stare in confusion, watching as the man began to remove his helmet... revealing a face she had not expect to see again, one belonging to the by now Senior Grey Warden Alistair. Once she had understood Alistair's bemused reaction, the dark-haired witch did the only thing she could... despite the horrible pain throbbing within her chest, she began to chuckle heartily, laughing until the weakness and the pain finally overtook her and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

><p>Morrigan awoke some time later, in a simple room with walls of crumbling masonry, her bed basically a sack of old straw, someone having covered her body with a relatively clean blanket. Rays of bright light were coming in from the tiny slit high in the wall above her 'bed', one or two also protruding through the gaps in the thick wall, suggesting that she had slept through the entire morning. As Morrigan removed the blanket and rose up to her feet, the raven-haired witch noticed that she no longer felt the intense pain of her injury; someone had undressed her upper body and healed the wound properly, the scar already having faded a little. It would remain visible for the rest of her life, but Morrigan was not as vain as to agonize about such a triviality, especially considering all the other issues she had to deal with. If anything, perhaps some blemish to her otherwise perfect body would deter her mother's plans of possessing her, though Morrigan truly did not believe such a foolish thought.<p>

Having dressed and left the room, Morrigan found herself out on a large wooden balcony overlooking a common room below, noticing Alistair and Merrill sitting at one of the tables in the large hall, three others present as well, all of them wearing Grey Warden garb. Merrill was eating something that from a distance looked like a loaf of bread, washing it down by drinking from a large pitcher, and seeing her elven friend feasting upon real food reminded Morrigan that she too felt ravenously hungry, urging her to descend downstairs to the main hall and walk up to where Alistair and Merrill sat, talking.

"Well, well..." the raven-haired witch remarked sarcastically, having watched Alistair explain something to Merrill with a grin on his face, the elven mage struggling not to laugh and spill her drink. "Looks like you have moved past the introductions just fine..."

"Morrigan," Alistair looked at her, immediately becoming a little more guarded. "I trust you are feeling better today."

"Yes, my gratitude to whoever provided the healing spells," Morrigan decided to play nice at least for now, remembering that these Wardens had no obligation to extend them any kind of aid. She was well aware that she possessed a natural talent at antagonizing people, making sure to rein in her sarcastic tongue as difficult as it was for her.

"Alistair was just telling me something outrageous," Merrill joined the discussion having finally swallowed the chunk of dry bread she had been chewing upon. Having noticed Morrigan's hungry expression, Alistair pushed towards her a plate with a loaf of bread as well as two slices of salted nug meat and poured her a pitcher of something that looked like wine that was watered down so much that there was barely any hint of wine left. Nevertheless, Morrigan accepted the meager offering gratefully, then nodding to Merrill, urging her to continue. "Alistair told me that when he opened the gate and saw us, he at first mistook me for the queen of Ferelden. How crazy is that?"

"Hmm… I suppose I do see the resemblance," Morrigan replied after a brief moment spent studying Merrill's features. "You know, dear Alistair was very attracted to our lovely queen at the beginning of our adventures... that is, before she showed her true colors."

"That's... that's a damn lie, Morrigan," Alistair argued, but his rebuttal lacked any conviction. "Well, fine... yes, I did make an error of judgment, but the conniving wench had the lot of us fooled, didn't she?"

"Not me," Morrigan shrugged. "But I suppose I can see your point. Well, let me reassure you," she grinned broadly, winking at her elven friend. "Merrill here is nothing like Maythre, you can be certain of that."

While Alistair was busy stuttering and appearing confused as to how to continue, Merrill remained completely oblivious to all of Morrigan's teasing of the poor Warden. "Well, I'm just... awed to find myself in the presence of two heroes of the Fifth Blight," the elf plowed straight ahead. "When my clan simply fled Ferelden at the rumors of the Blight, you stayed behind and fought for us all... if not for brave heroes like you, the Blight would probably have reached the Free Marches and swallowed the Sabrae clan there..."

"Yes, we are all regular heroes here, I'm sure," Morrigan smirked, as always feeling a little uncomfortable when being on the receiving end of praise. "The thing that interests me most right now, however, is to learn just what exactly are the Wardens doing here, Alistair. This fortress was supposed to be abandoned, wasn't it?"

"I'm more curious just how you two ended up on my doorstep," Alistair replied with a question of his own.

"I asked first," Morrigan retorted stubbornly.

"True, but knowing you, I have no reason to believe that you will honor any promises to reveal your side of the story once I have told you everything you wish to know," Alistair pointed out.

"I'm sure Morrigan will answer any questions you might have, Alistair, but if she doesn't, I most certainly will," Merrill said, her words accompanied with a broad smile directed at the Warden. "It's the least we can do to repay your kindness."

"She's such a dear, isn't she?" Morrigan cooed mockingly, Merrill once again blissfully not picking up on her tone.

"I certainly would trust her more than I would trust you," Alistair rolled his eyes, then looking at the two women and shrugging his shoulders. "Fine, you wish to know something... ask, and I will tell you whatever I'm not forbidden to explain."

"Let's just start with what the Wardens are doing here at Adamant," Morrigan began.

"Right now we're here because Warden-Commander Clarel has decided to whip this fortress back into shape, for whatever reason," Alistair shrugged. "Sent us a group of dwarven builders to look after while they work. Fortunately Clarel doesn't expect them to turn this place into the Winter Palace, because that would take dozens of years. Perhaps she wants to make a permanent Warden outpost here, I wouldn't know... even if I'm supposedly in charge here, I got told nothing about that."

"You said _'right now'_," Morrigan's brow creased as she pondered upon the answer of her old comrade-in-arms. "Does that mean you initially came here for a different purpose?"

"You could say that..." Alistair sighed deeply. "One of the strangest assignments I've ever had, and that includes everything we saw during the Blight. It was... more than a year ago now that Warden-Commander Clarel summoned me and tasked me with leading a Grey Warden force to Adamant. We were to assist an elven mage by the name of Pharomond in his research here... little did I know that the request for the Wardens and for me in particular came from... well, apparently from the Divine herself."

"What... why would the Divine be involved in Grey Warden matters?" Merrill blinked.

"The leadership of Orlais, both the empress, and the Divine, have been staunch supporters of the Gray Warden cause over the years," Alistair explained. "The Divine needed aid from someone not connected with the Chantry, Clarel and the Grey Wardens were all too happy to return a favor. As for why I was selected to lead the group... you do not know this, Merrill, but Morrigan does... at a young age, I received training as a templar before the Grey Wardens recruited me. This made me particularly suited for this task, especially given that the Divine could not involve anyone from the Templar Order."

"Why not?" Merrill did not appear any less confused at that explanation.

"Because of the nature of Pharomond's research, of course. Surely you have heard all about it by now," Alistair spoke, looking a little confused when he met the blank stares of his companions. "The research of the Rite of Tranquility and how to reverse it? The discovery that it was indeed possible to do so, and the fallout that came from that? The slaughter at the White Spire that started the mage-templar war?"

"What... what are you talking about... none of these things are known to us..." Merrill blinked. "Mage-templar war? You mean... there's a war happening right now?"

"How can you not know about it?" Alistair appeared equally confused. "It's been going on for a while now! Have you been lost in time or something?"

"Hmm, now that is something to consider..." Morrigan replied thoughtfully. "What is the current year, Alistair?"

"Are you being serious?" Alistair gave her an incredulous look before moving to explain. "Why it's early Umbralis of the Year 940. We were celebrating Satinalia just a few days ago..."

"Elgar'nan!" Merrill exclaimed, looking dumbstruck. "I have lost... three years of my life? It was Year 9:37 when Xebenkeck pulled me through the mirror!"

"I have lost even more if it is of any consolation," Morrigan spoke, not appearing as affected by this revelation as her elven friend. "I can only surmise that the flow of time in the place where Xebenkeck took us is vastly different from anywhere else in the Crossroads."

"Crossroads... Xeben-what's-its, magical mirrors... what are you two talking about?" Alistair ran his fingers through his light curly hair, scratching his scalp in confusion. "I haven't understood a single word yet!"

"We will get to that eventually," Morrigan cut him off impatiently. "Remember, you agreed to tell us your side of the story first, so just do go on."

"Three years!" Alistair was stopped by Merrill's exclamation, the elf looking inconsolable. "Bethany... Creators, Bethany must think that I am dead!" She rose from the table swiftly. "I must return to Kirkwall at once!"

"Enough with the hysterics, just sit down and listen," Morrigan snapped impatiently, tugging on Merrill's arm to force her back into the seat, but the elf pulled her hand away, looking upset and angry. "Look, you can't go to Kirkwall, not now! You might as well calm down and learn more about what has happened!"

"She is right, you know," Alistair looked up at the upset elf, his stare conveying much more sympathy than Morrigan's. "But if you're from Kirkwall, then I... might have further bad news for you. Here..." he produced a small hip flask and pressed it into the hands of the reluctant elf, finally accepting her fate and sitting down again. "Drink it. Tastes foul, but it will help."

Merrill uncorked the flask and carefully took a single sip, the amber liquid burning her throat as she carefully worried it in her mouth, unable to decide whether to swallow or spit it out. Deciding that spitting it out would appear too undignified, Merrill decided to swallow the liquid and it burned all the way to the pit of her belly, filling her with strange but not unpleasant warmth, as if she were sitting right next to a roaring furnace. "Effective, isn't it?" Alistair grinned at her. "Mackay's Epic Single Malt. Older than the Maker and smoother than elven baby-butt... or so they say." That actually coaxed a laugh from Merrill, even though she still felt a little shocked. "So, this Bethany you mentioned... a friend of yours?"

"Her girlfriend, actually," Morrigan exclaimed helpfully, chuckling inwardly when she saw Alistair's eyes widen a little in surprise.

"Oh... right," the Warden recovered quickly. "Well... I'm afraid that the whole mage-templar mess actually started in Kirkwall. A madman there, some mage by the name of Anders-..."

"Anders?" Merrill's head snapped up, surprising amount of hatred burning in her usually compassionate eyes. "I told them all that he was up to no good, I did… I really did! But they didn't listen, they just claimed I was jealous…"

"What did this Anders do?" Morrigan asked, ignoring Merrill's rambling.

"He blew up the Chantry and killed hundreds," Alistair replied grimly. "Things between mages and templars went downhill real quickly after that."

"It's been a long time coming," Morrigan remarked, failing to appear horrified.

"Merrill, I'm afraid that I can't tell you whether your Bethany survived those events or not," Alistair turned to the elf, speaking in a soothing voice. "Was she a mage like you?"

Merrill nodded mutely. "Also the sister of the Champion," she added.

"Bethany Hawke, then," Alistair concluded, Merrill giving him a weak smile. "I can't say that I've heard anything about her since those events... nor about the Champion herself. Perhaps... perhaps they have both gone into hiding together?"

"That... might be so, yes," Merrill finally acknowledged after a moment of thinking. "It would be more worrying if Riona had been seen traveling alone without Beth. They were... are quite inseparable."

"I'm sure you will be able to find out more once you return to proper civilization," Alistair smiled encouragingly. "Nobody here in Adamant will know for certain."

"That's all good and well, but you still have not finished your tale, Alistair," Morrigan remarked.

"Yes... yes, do go on," Merrill added hastily, having finally come to terms with the realization that right now she truly could not do anything at all to get in touch with Bethany. Taking a few more sips from Alistair's flask had also done wonders in calming her nerves and making her feel pleasantly optimistic and a little light-headed.

"Well, there's not much to tell, really," Alistair shrugged. "Pharomond predictably encountered difficulties in his research, and despite finding the solution, managed to get himself possessed by demons. Our orders were to not kill him under any circumstances, so we did what we could to contain him and send for help. Didn't take long for relief to arrive, fortunately."

"You mean to tell me that you didn't have some of the Warden mages here to being with?" Morrigan asked with a frown.

Alistair shook his head at that. "Afraid not, and I don't think that help came from the Divine either, not this time. The elf that showed up, Briala… she apparently was a close advisor to Empress Celene."

"Was the empress involved in this plot as well?" the raven-haired witch wondered.

"It is likely," Alistair nodded. "She and Justinia have a history of loyally supporting each other, and I understand that interest in magic and the occult runs strong in the Valmont family. Apparently Empress Celene is not an exception to that rule."

"Hmm… something to remember, for sure," Morrigan remarked to herself.

"Anyway, this Briala brought a friend with her, another elf, mage by the name of Felassan," Alistair continued. "Very odd fellow... but he knew what he was doing, which was perhaps the most frightening thing about it all, because the rest of us were entirely out of our depth. Somehow, he was able to free Pharomond from his possession and restore the man to a state of... relative sanity. Then the three of them left together with most of my Wardens. Next thing I knew from the outside world was the Warden patrol bringing in the dwarven builders and telling us all these outrageous stories, not just about the mage-templar war, but also of a civil war in Orlais, Celene fighting her own cousin, this Briala apparently having betrayed and abandoned the empress... or having been betrayed and abandoned by the empress, nobody really seems to know the truth. Long story short... it's been complete chaos out there, and for better or worse you have missed it all."

"Well, it sounds as if it hasn't ended, so perhaps we have missed only the start of it all," Morrigan pointed out with a sardonic grin.

"Still the fountain of optimism and cheery thoughts, I see," Alistair groaned.

"It is called being realistic," Morrigan smirked. "It seems that I will have a great deal of developments to catch up with, indeed. Perhaps, before I leave, you can tell me more about the good Empress Celene and her fascination with the occult," she added, plans already starting to form in her head. Indeed, finding persons of great influence who looked favorably upon the kind of magic that she practiced and the knowledge she possessed was very difficult, and if she could somehow reach out to the empress and persuade Celene into a mutually beneficial alliance, Morrigan immediately saw great benefits for herself in such an arrangement.

"I don't think I will be able to tell you anything else other than that she supposedly has such interest," Alistair shrugged. "As for your plans of leaving... we won't be able to spare any horses, and other supplies have to be carefully rationed as well. Trying to reach the Heartlands on foot... I can't recommend it."

"But we have to try, don't we?" Merrill asked, looking pleadingly at Morrigan.

"I'm sorry, but I have my own ways of traveling that will require neither horses, nor any rations from your supply cache, Alistair," Morrigan replied. "Once I have sufficiently recovered and regained my strength, I will be leaving. Likely much to Alistair's delight, at least."

"And what about me?" Merrill asked forlornly. "I have to try and make it to... whatever the nearest settlement is. I just... can't stay here for months or maybe even years when the Wardens finally decide to leave!"

"Two months at least until the next supply caravan arrives with the news," Alistair nodded sympathetically. "If it is only for you alone, then we could provide rations and a map to the nearest settlement, which would be Velun. Still no horse, though."

"I am so bad with maps..." Merrill sighed despondently. "I don't suppose you have a giant ball of twine so that I could find my way back just in case..."

"In that case, I really wish you would stay here with us until the caravan arrives," Alistair said, looking deeply worried. "But perhaps... perhaps I could accompany you at least for a part of the way and see that you make it to Velun safely."

"How very charmingly gallant of you, Ser Knight-In-Shining-Warden-Armor," Morrigan chuckled, Alistair blushing a little at her words.

"You would?" Merrill blinked, wide-eyed in surprise, almost not daring to believe the generous offer. "Oh my... I don't know what to say! How can I ever repay you for this kindness?"

"I could suggest several ways," Morrigan inserted with an expressive roll of the eyes.

"Oh?" Merrill looked at her curiously, missing the meaning of the raven-haired witch's comment. "Please, tell me!"

"There is no need to repay me with anything," Alistair spoke up quickly, glaring at the grinning Morrigan. "The Thing From The Swamp is simply trying to be insufferable and potentially crass."

"I would never do anything to embarrass you, my dear Alistair," Morrigan spoke, tying to appear as innocent as possible. It didn't fool Alistair, but Merrill was convinced more than easily.

"Can we just talk about something else?" Alistair cut in, looking increasingly frustrated with Morrigan's antics. "You still owe me the explanation of just how you showed up at the fortress, and just where and how did you manage to get lost in time for several years."

"Sure, telling our side of the story is the least we can do!" Merrill announced with cheerful bubbliness. Despite how much Morrigan might have wished to keep the information on the eluvians to herself, short of killing Merrill and fleeing, there was nothing she could do to prevent the elf from spilling what she knew to her new protector knight in shining armor. And despite Merrill being occasionally annoying, Morrigan had developed a fondness for the elf, sentiment that surprised the dark witch herself. _And she did save my life in circumstances where I'm not certain I would have done the same. That should count for something. _

"Fine, fine," Morrigan sighed reluctantly. "So, Alistair... how much have you heard about eluvians?"

"Eluvi-what's?" Alistair blinked. Morrigan let out another deep sigh. Apparently, this was going to be a very long day.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks for the awesome review on the last chapter anonymous NotAnonymous! You brought up some interesting questions that I wanted to answer not just for you but also for everyone reading the story. _

_Yes, due to the events of my previous stories, we will have new advisors; only Josephine will retain her ambassador's post. Don't get me wrong, I like Leliana and I think Cullen is very decent in DAI, but I really don't want to retcon character deaths like Bioware have already done with Leliana's return regardless of your choices. The problem with bringing Leliana back in this story would also be that because so much time has passed, she would probably not be very effective in the role we see her in DAI. _

_Now, you might ask who will take up the roles of Leliana and Cullen. As for the spymaster role, yes, Bethany is being groomed for it, but as NotAnonymous rightly points out, she won't be as good as Leliana (even if Leliana makes mistakes too). That's why I'm bringing Varric into this story in a slightly different capacity, utilizing his spy network and working together with Bethany. It's like two people are needed to replace Leliana, which to me seems fair enough. _

_As for the commander of the Inquisition forces... don't worry; I don't plan to introduce some OC that nobody cares about. The candidate I have in mind comes from the cast of characters we already know and love. It's also possible that I will have more than one person sharing the burden. As the Inquisition forces grow, I can see the job becoming too much for one person. _

_There, I hope that answers some of the questions, so let's get on with the story itself! Time to peek in on our villains and their scheming. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

_Corypheus' Lair, Deep Roads_

The ancient magister sat upon an elaborately decorated throne, a gift from one of the Venatori leaders, eager to appease him, his eyes cast upon the massive war table in front of him, the pawns representing his ever-growing forces multiplying and spreading throughout the map with efficiency that pleased him. There was much to do still, before the world was returned to the state worthy of his rule once he had claimed godhood, but Corypheus felt that had made a promising start. He looked up from the war table, his piercing stare facing a soft-speaking man standing before him, a guest who had sought an audience... and it had not taken Corypheus more than a moment to realize that his guest was no mere mortal behind his innocent looking appearance.

"You claim to have something that would benefit me and my plans... demon," the ancient magister finally addressed the _man_ before him.

"I believe I can be of help, yes," the demon replied in a deceptively kind voice. "There is a matter of great frustration for you, my Lord, something I can assist with. Your success at corrupting individual groups of templars has been most impressive, indeed. But the entire Order will never be yours to control, not until these... Seekers of Truth become your puppets."

"You are no mere demon, are you?" Corypheus rose, towering over the possessed man who did not display any signs of being intimidated. "Yes, these Seekers are a mystery to me. However, you are very well informed… and I find that very suspicious."

"I have walked the realm of mortals since the day when you made the attempt to breach the Golden City, my Lord," the demon replied politely. "I have seen and learned much during this time. I know of the lyrium, sick with Blight, and I have watched how you have used this red lyrium to take control of the templars. But not the Seekers of Truth."

"Yes, they appear resistant to red lyrium," Corypheus snarled, smashing his hand against the surface of the war table in frustration, a piece of heavy metal gauntlet snapping off and revealing the black, corrupted flesh underneath. His appearance still partly resembled the man he had possessed during his escape from the Grey Warden prison, a young templar by the name of Cullen. But the skin of the templar's face had mostly peeled off by now, revealing his grotesque true visage underneath, shards of metal embedded under his skin and becoming fused with the flesh. The most visible reminder of his possessed victim were the parts of his heavy templar armor, symbols of the loathed Chantry burned into Corypheus' chest, much to his disgust. They would peel off and fall into obscurity soon enough, as would the Chantry itself, he was sure of it.

Truly, it had been a sheer stroke of good luck that this Knight-Captain Cullen had been bitten by a blighted deepstalker during his trek through the Grey Warden prison. He had not told his companions about this small scratch, had not even realized that he had contracted the deadly Blight, but it had been the lifeline Corypheus had needed after the offspring of Emerius, or Hawke as they were known these days, had delivered the blow that was supposed to destroy him. The tiny seed of Blight within the templar had cried out to him, barely audible, but he had heard the tiny whisper and he had sought it out, infusing the unwilling victim with his immortal spirit. And he could not have made a better choice than this Cullen, the well-informed vessel helping him to learn more and understand the world he had woken up in. The young man was a veritable fountain of knowledge, and Corypheus had used his memories, and later those of the other thralls, his first followers he had recruited at the Nevarran Circle of Magi. The information about the red lyrium and its highly corruptive influence also came from Knight-Captain Cullen's mind, drawn from the events that had occurred at the Kirkwall Circle of Magi.

Once he was armed with information about the current state of the world, Corypheus found himself utterly disgusted with the perverse order of things. Tevinter Imperium, his homeland, had shrunk to a miserable remnant of its former glory, and even though unlike in the rest of the pathetic world, in Tevinter mages still ruled over those without the blessed gift, they still bowed to this imaginary Maker, a ridiculous piece of fiction, his almightiness apparently proven and made tangible by his... absence and inaction? The rest of the world was in an even more deplorable state, mages literally made slaves or prisoners by those with no magical affinity. Their keepers had somehow twisted their holy tenet of 'magic must serve man' into 'mages must serve men', and the rest of the world followed this ridiculous commandment. Fortunately, now that Corypheus knew how broken the world was, he could see about fixing it, remaking it in the image of the perfect empire that he had left behind when he and the six other High Priests of the Old Gods embarked on their fateful journey into the Fade.

"That is true, they cannot be controlled by lyrium, simply because unlike templars, they do not use lyrium to power their abilities," his guest explained politely. "But red lyrium is not the only way to corrupt someone, to make them see things your way... is it, Lord Corypheus?"

"What are you suggesting, demon?" the magister asked.

"I offer my aid in convincing Lord Seeker Lucius Corin to join your side, my Lord," the demon replied. "Once he has sworn loyalty to your cause, the rest of his wretched order will follow." The possessed man broke into a knowing grin as he stared up at Corypheus. "Oh, I can see your doubts, my Lord. How could I possibly convince this most devout and zealous Seeker to stand with you? Well, my Lord... I would not offer my services if I did not believe that the goal could be achieved. Before coming here, I made sure to observe Lord Seeker in secret... and there is no doubt in my mind that he can be swayed. I could feel his doubts, his anger and dismay... all the signs of a faith shaken and broken. Recent events have left Lord Seeker Lucius vulnerable... on your orders, I will find a way to exploit his weakness."

"I can bind the most powerful of your kind. Perhaps I could even bind you," Corypheus spoke imperiously. "Why would I need to bargain with you, when I could simply send a bound demon to possess this Lord Seeker?"

"I am sure that you have better uses for your valuable time than binding demons, Lord Corypheus, especially when they willingly offer their aid," the man did not appear even slightly fazed as he replied. "And if I am right about your overreaching plan... then I might not be the only of my kind eager to ally with you. The Fade will be breached again, won't it?" his guest gave the magister a curious look. "My brethren will appreciate the opportunity to flock into the world of living and wreak havoc upon this land."

"And in return, you would ask for... what?" Corypheus gave the smug looking man a baleful glare.

"Not much," the demon replied with a smooth smile. "I have watched the way your people handle red lyrium. It is clear that they have absolutely no knowledge of how to treat this dangerous substance."

"And you do," Corypheus remarked, his face contorting in a grotesque frown.

"Of course, my Lord," the demon replied. "I would gladly show your people how to handle red lyrium, how to produce… to grow it quickly in great quantities. If you would give me the people and the resources to use, I would establish multiple lyrium quarries across Southern Thedas and provide stable and prosperous supply of red lyrium for your needs."

"Where did you acquire this knowledge on red lyrium, demon?" the ancient magister demanded.

"I simply know what it _**is**_, my Lord," came the quick reply. "It speaks to you, doesn't it? And you can speak to it... yes, you are linked, are you not?"

Corypheus nodded slightly before proceeding. "But you simply offered to serve me in yet another capacity, without explaining what do you want from me," he pointed out.

"There is a man who has become a great nuisance to me," the demon explained. "A chevalier of no small skill who has sworn to hunt me down for a perceived slight. Despite my own vast power, I must admit failure in dealing with this tiresome hunter. All I ask from you is to be granted protection while in your employ. Some of the corrupted templars under your command would do more than fine, I have seen them and they are impressive indeed."

"All red lyrium quarries are supplied with a guard force that includes the corrupted templars," Corypheus spoke. "They would be yours to command, and they would protect you with the same zealous fervor with which they would defend our precious red lyrium."

"Does that mean we have an agreement, Lord Corypheus?" the possessed man spoke with a hopeful smile.

"I am willing to give this arrangement a try, on one last condition," Corypheus spoke. "Before I agree to this, I would know your name, demon."

"But of course," the man bowed deeply before him. "Call me Imshael."

* * *

><p>A proud looking light-haired female in exquisite mage robe befitting the mightiest of Tevinter magisters strutted through the more garishly adorned halls reserved to those who had earned particular trust and approval of their Lord Corypheus. Some of the stares that accompanied her passage were full of envy and hatred, belonging to some of the established magisters, outraged about the meteoric rise of the former slave, achieved by her miraculous discovery of an elven artifact that had so pleased Lord Corypheus. Others looked at her more approvingly, her ascension to power and influence making them believe that with Corypheus, they would not be limited by their lack of proper bloodlines, their worthiness determined by what they could achieve through their own power and ingenuity.<p>

Calpernia ignored all this attention, both flattering or envious, instead walking over to a table where a scruffy looking man sat, wearing the heavy templar armor, dark circles under his sunken eyes, reflecting a strange, reddish light. The man was busy devouring a bowl of thick stew, dipping flatbread into the spicy dish and chomping it down eagerly, acting as if he had not eaten for days, which was probably true.

"I greet you, templar Samson," Calpernia spoke, taking a seat opposite to the armored man, at first not raising his head to look at the woman, too focused on stuffing himself full with the delicious food. "I saw your return. Another good haul, was it not? It is inspiring to see our ranks swelling so fast."

The templar... or more accurately, the _former_ templar licked his lips and his fingertips before replying. "Plenty of desperate fools out there, being driven insane by the lack of lyrium," he shrugged. "I remember being like that back in Kirkwall. They'll do anything for taste. Who cares if it's red? That's how far they have been pushed."

"Unfortunate that we must benefit through their suffering, but it is all for the best," Calpernia replied with a confident smile. "They will help by shaping the new world order that Lord Corypheus envisions for us all. I believe it is worth enduring any suffering to achieve it."

"Breaking the Chantry leash? Definitely," Samson snorted. "Mind you, the red stuff does... weird things to those who use more than advised. One fool in Val Firmin sprouted a giant red crystal from his forehead... like this huge horn. Everyone was laughing about the man's misfortune, when the crystal burst through his forehead and popped the fool's brains all over the room. It's like the stuff was... growing inside of him."

"I admit, we still don't know everything about the red lyrium," Calpernia nodded. "That is why it is important to restrain yourself and not take more than necessary."

"Indeed," the former templar agreed. "I'd say that kind of a nasty death should have been bad for morale, yes? But all the others were already so hooked on the stuff that nobody even said anything about not wanting to take it. Come the next feeding time, everyone swallowed their dosage like obedient cattle."

"Good to know that it is so effective," the freshly baked magister smiled. "I did notice someone else arriving with your latest recruits, someone who was not a templar."

"Ah yes," Samson replied. "That was Maddox. A tranquil I took care of in Kirkwall."

"Why are you interested in saving a tranquil?" Calpernia asked, looking surprised.

"It was at the behest of our Lord Corypheus," Samson shrugged. "Sure, the old magister is as creepy as the worst demon spawned from the Fade, but at least he acknowledges what I'm doing for him. More than the sodding Chantry ever did. Anyway, Corypheus told me to find a master crafter who could create a set of armor. Maddox is the best Formari enchanter I've ever come across."

"A set of armor, you say..." Calpernia looked thoughtful.

"Yes, something that Corypheus plans to reward me with," Samson remarked. "For being the best at recruiting lost rogue templars to our cause. Corypheus said that a tranquil could work red lyrium without any danger. The armor will supposedly make me invincible... not sure if I believe that, but if that red lyrium can be worked into a suit of armor? That would be some serious power right there."

"You are probably right," Calpernia conceded, feeling a little envious at the reward promised to the former templar. "But you have done marvelous work by bringing in the templar recruits, and it is only fitting that our Lord Corypheus has chosen to reward your determination. Alas, only by subverting the Seekers of Truth, will the Templar Order fall into our hands completely," she added, hoping to spoil Samson's good mood at least a little.

"Yes, that bastard Lucius won't eat red lyrium," Samson shrugged. "Heard the boss has some other ideas how to get to him, though."

"True... I have heard that the Lord Seeker might be... amenable," Calpernia nodded with a smile. "Once we have the Templar Order on our side, there will be hardly any force left out there to oppose us."

"There are still the rebel mages, I suppose," Samson remarked off-handedly, Calpernia bristling a little at the reminder.

"You should probably leave them to us and focus more on the templars," the former slave replied stiffly as rose from the table. "There is no reason to worry about the rebel mages. The Venatori will take care of them."

* * *

><p>Having listened to the report of another frightened messenger, Corypheus once again found himself standing by the war table, looking over the collection of pawns representing his assets. As days went by, his forces grew and grew, and lately he could feel the impatience radiating from those under his command. In fact, some of this impatience seemed to be seeping into him as well, because the more he reviewed his gathered assets, the more he started to believe that the time to act was now. The information that the loyal Calpernia had supplied him with recently also added some urgency to finally begin his planned chain of operations that would remake this world, and usher his transfer into the next.<p>

Spread of his influence in Tevinter had begun through one Magister Erasthenes, former master of Calpernia and many other learned slaves that had come to join the army of Corypheus. Erasthenes was a renowned scholar of the Old Gods, and his writings had spread even outside of the Imperium, despite being considered heretical in the South, and borderline heretical in Tevinter itself. Erasthenes was also one of the leaders of the ancient sect of the Venatori, a secret cult that throughout the ages had rejected the Andrastian faith and clung on to the memories of the Old Gods. Through his influence, Corypheus secured the support of the Venatori, who in turn brought him many more followers, swayed by the reemergence of the High Priest of Dumat, the next best thing to the Old Gods themselves.

Unfortunately, Erasthenes himself had become somewhat uncooperative over time, especially after learning the full extent of Corypheus' plans. As the ancient magister still found the knowledge of Erasthenes very useful, had had been forced to bind and imprison the disloyal Venatori in one of the shrines to the Dragon of Silence, Corypheus deciding to keep it a secret from Calpernia and the other slaves of Erasthenes, unwilling to test their loyalty. The official version was that Erasthenes had been sent on a mission to explore elven ruins deep into the Orlesian territories, and for now this explanation seemed to satisfy everyone. Thus, Corypheus' goals of securing a loyal Tevinter backbone for his army had been achieved. The knowledge of his return was spreading through the necessary circles in Tevinter, bringing in new recruits every day, disillusioned citizens of the Imperium, desperate to see it return to its days of former glory.

There were equally promising news arriving from the South. Imshael had delivered on his promise and Lord Seeker Lucius Corin was now under their sway. In fact, Imshael wrote of not having to do much to convince Lucius, the man already eager to do what he could to bring down both the Seekers and the Templar Order, having been utterly disgusted and shocked after learning some of the darkest secrets of the Seekers of Truth, this knowledge falling into Lucius' hands following the mysterious demise of the previous Lord Seeker, Lambert Van Reeves. Lucius had promised to lure the rest of the Seekers into a trap and deal with them away from the public eye, while at the same time agreeing to an Envy demon taking his place at the head of the Templar Order. This Envy demon would assume his appearance and through it, Corypheus would now control the templars as he wished, his first order to begin distributing red lyrium amongst all the templars of the South, corrupting them and utterly fortifying their devotion to Corypheus.

Imshael himself remained a mystery to Corypheus. The ancient magister had a lingering feeling that he had met this demon before, prior to his attempt to breach the Golden City, but the details of this encounter had faded with time, as had so many other memories. Corypheus nevertheless had assigned a group of Venatori mages to search the libraries of Imperium for information on this Imshael, the ancient magister wary of encountering an unpleasant surprise from his supposed ally.

Still, Imshael had been right on another note as well. Powerful demons freely expressed desires of alliance, something that everyone always needed to be careful with, even would-be gods like himself, but the very fact that they offered their help without having to be bound and forced into service was telling. The Envy demon posing as Lord Seeker Lucius was one such willing servant. His most powerful ally, however, was Nightmare; a fearsome entity of the Fade, and this alliance had provided Corypheus with an opportunity to secure the services of another powerful group, the Grey Wardens. He had always known and exploited his ability to manipulate the Wardens, latching onto the taint they carried within their blood, but to affect the entire branch of the Order in the South, Corypheus needed help from someone powerful. Nightmare provided the solution he was looking for, preying on the minds of the Southern Wardens, filling them with fear and desperation, making them believe that the subtle song of their tainted blood was the Calling that signaled the end of their short lives. This made the Wardens desperate, unreasonable, and willing to take drastic measures, exactly what Corypheus had counted upon. In return, Nightmare craved only one thing, the opportunity to enter the mortal realm and feast on their fears, as well as upon their tender flesh.

There was another army he could call upon, but he was slightly hesitant to use these forces. He could control Grey Wardens to some extent, but controlling the darkspawn came to him as naturally as breathing. So shortly after Blight, there were not as many of them around as normally, but still plenty to organize an army to reckon with. However, Corypheus was aware that if he relied on the darkspawn too heavily, some of his human allies would find it difficult to accept, particularly those who had come to work for him voluntarily, without him influencing their minds in any way. Still... he needed to surround himself with entities that carried the seeds of Blight, simply to account for the possibility that his mortal shell might be destroyed and he would need to possess yet another vessel. An idea suddenly occurred to the ancient magister as he rose from the war table and proceeded towards the exit of his chamber.

"Summon Calpernia!" he exclaimed with authority, his many servants flocking outside responding immediately. "Now!"

He did not have to wait long for the light-haired human female to enter his chambers and kneel before him in submission. "You sent for me, my Lord," she spoke quietly.

"That I did," Corypheus nodded. "Our plans for this Conclave, Calpernia. Tell me of our progress."

"Very well, my Lord," the former slave nodded obediently. "The Conclave is scheduled to take place three months from now. As our agents have predicted, the Divine has asked the Grey Wardens to provide for her protection, not fully trusting neither mages nor the templars. We are currently working to make sure that the... right Wardens are selected to accompany the Divine."

"Very good," Corypheus spoke approvingly. "We should travel light and join them on the eve of these... peace talks. Will we be able to secure safe entrance to this temple?"

"Temple of the Sacred Ashes," Calpernia muttered. "Yes, the Wardens have information on multiple secret passageways leading in and out of the ancient complex. Sneaking in undetected will not pose a problem."

"Then we should begin our preparations for departure. It is finally time to put our plans into action," Corypheus spoke resolutely. "Only one more thing remains before we leave, my loyal Calpernia. You will provide me with information of the nearest roosting High Dragon."

"A... dragon, my Lord?" Calpernia blinked, having been caught by a complete surprise.

"Were my words not clear, my servant?" the ancient magister glared at his covering minion. "Yes, you will find me a dragon to possess and bound to my will. To have a dragon at my beck and call will completely sap the morale of those who would oppose us."

"Of course, Lord Corypheus... a most excellent plan," Calpernia bowed. "There are several dragons sighted in the Silent Plains, my Lord. On your command, I can organize an expedition to narrow down the location of their roosts."

"Do so without delay, Calpernia," Corypheus ordered. "And remember, I only require one dragon. Now leave me."

Calpernia retreated immediately, leaving Corypheus wallowing in smug satisfaction about the excellence of his new plan. A corrupted pet dragon would serve so many of his needs that it astounded him that he had not thought of it before. With a touch of Blight, the dragon would become his constantly present vessel for his spirit to return to in case some aspiring hero would deal him a mortal blow. More so, the pitiful men of the South would no doubt tremble before the sight of him riding a Blight-touched dragon... many would even mistake it for an Archdemon. If he could make them believe that he commanded an Archdemon, and through it, the Blight itself... the opposition would surely think him impossible to defeat, and more and more would flock to his side, believing it to be their only path to salvation. And lastly... perhaps he could even use the red lyrium to further empower his pet dragon... it would be an interesting experiment at the very least, to see how the dangerously corruptive substance affected creatures as high and mighty as dragons themselves.

The more Corypheus considered his plans, as well as the forces he had already assembled, the more confident he began to feel. Everything was in place for him to realize his ultimate goal, to remake the world of living into shape worthy of having him as a god, to enter the Fade and take the ultimate power for himself.

His eyes fell upon the elven orb that Calpernia had delivered to him, not even suspecting the power of this artifact. Corypheus remembered having seen one of these elven orbs, long time ago before he had attempted to enter Fade the first time. Complex rituals of blood magic and mass murder of slaves had secured their first breach of the Fade, but Corypheus firmly believed that this elven orb could do the same, so great was the power stored in it. He remembered hearing old legends of ancient elves, or their long dead deities, using these orbs to enter what they called the Beyond. Exactly how it was achieved, Corypheus did not know, nor did he care. His own power was enormous, and once activated, the elven artifact would bow to his will and do exactly what he required it to do, of that Corypheus had no doubt.

He did not even have to exploit the opportunity at the Conclave, he was aware of that. He could use the orb right here and now to open a gateway into the Fade. But he had to agree with Calpernia's reasoning when she had come to him with news of the Conclave. Everyone outside the Imperium looked upon this… Divine. Her spectacular death would sow panic throughout Southern Thedas, panic that he could easily exploit.

Nodding to himself, Corypheus stood by the war table, moving some of the pieces on the board towards the edge of the map where a tiny speck represented the village of Haven. _Yes, so shall it be, _Corypheus told himself._ The new world order will begin there. _

* * *

><p><em>Road to Velun, Orlais <em>

After several days of hard walking, the damnable sand of the Western Approach slowly began to give way to greener plains, the two travelers much relieved by the change of scenery, which also meant that they were nearing the destination for one of them at least. Alistair found that he was not particularly overjoyed by this, quietly admitting to himself that he had felt much happier accompanying Merrill on the road than he ever was while stuck at his unrewarding assignment at Fortress Adamant. Of course, he could not deny that much of his enjoyment of the difficult journey was due to his charming companion, Alistair finding Merrill simply delightful to be around, the compassionate elf always a fountain of inquisitive optimism and adorable innocent naiveté.

Oh, he was very aware that his... romantic attraction towards Merrill was rooted in the feelings that he once had for his fellow Grey Warden Maythre, who had since proven to become the antithesis of everything Alistair considered good and honorable. In a way, Merrill was like the mirror image of Maythre, someone he had once wanted the current Queen of Ferelden to be, but she had revealed herself to be wicked and twisted. Of course, Merrill would never know about the emotional turmoil she had suddenly reawakened within him, they would part in a few hours, in fact he had already accompanied the beautiful elf further than necessary on her path to Velun, but the company had been so enjoyable that he had insisted on walking with her for several more miles.

If only his swelling emotions could make him ignore that persistent tick at the back of his skull, the subtle, seductive song coursing through his flesh and bones, then Alistair's day would have been complete. It had started a month ago or perhaps a little bit earlier than that. Alistair had not discussed it with anyone as of yet, unwilling to speak of it before he truly knew what these signs meant. They seemed to indicate the dread Calling sneaking up on him, but this made little sense to Alistair. He had undergone his Joining twelve years ago. He was supposed to have as much as twenty more years in service to the Wardens. What could have happened to so drastically shorten the time left to him?

He had avoided speaking of it to the other Wardens, unsure of what their reaction would be. Perhaps they would expect him to charge into the Deep Roads and meet his fate there, but Alistair could not accept that, not yet. It made no sense to him, there had to be something else at work here, he simply needed to find out what it was. Perhaps the supply caravan would bring the news that he was being recalled, as by now he was desperate to return to Val Royeaux and speak with Warden-Commander Clarel at the earliest possibility.

"I think I can see something in the distance," Merrill's gentle, melodic voice interrupted his musings, the elf peering at the horizon.

Alistair's chest clenched a little tighter when he realized what it was. "Remains of the Imperial Highway," he said, knowing that their parting was imminent. "We are close."

"If I can see the road from here, then you really don't have to accompany me any further, Alistair," Merrill spoke brightly. "You have done more than I had any right to ask for already."

"It was my pleasure," Alistair smiled at her. "I could walk you all the way to Velun, if you would like me to."

"Oh... I really should not impose," Merrill shook her head, though she did look a tiny bit regretful. She walked up to Alistair in that graceful step of hers, as if walking on her toes, and before Alistair understood what was happening, he suddenly found the elf wrapping her arms around him in an affectionate hug. "Thank you, Warden Alistair," she spoke, parting, but not before pressing her lips against his cheek in a soft kiss. "Thank you for everything you have done for me."

"Farewell, Merrill of Clan Sabrae. May the Creators guide your path," Alistair called after her as Merrill began to walk away, occasionally looking back to wave at him. The touch of her lips on his cheek felt warmth, and as he finally turned around to start his long trek back to Adamant, Alistair realized that the spreading warmth of Merrill's kiss had also silenced the terrifying yet beautiful song of the would-be Calling inside of him. Alistair only hoped that the soothing protection would last long enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Allow me a little aside to explain the appearance of a rare OC in this chapter. Back in 'Tranquility' I linked the Hawke bloodline back to an ancient Tevinter magister, the one who founded Kirkwall (then called Emerius), and who was also one of the seven magisters who had stormed the Golden City. Considering that Corypheus is the main villain of DA:I, it felt prudent to bring back another of these ancient magisters. Well, okay, two of them actually. In this AU, I'm rolling with the theory that the Architect is also one of the original magisters. He seems to tick a lot of boxes to fit the requirement. :) _

**Chapter 6**

_Deep Roads, Southern Ferelden_

"Keep digging! We're almost there!" an elven woman addressed the group of busily working Dalish elves, her clansmen, as they frantically finished clearing the last of the rubble blocking access to an arch-shaped doorway. "Yes... this is the place. I can sense him inside... just barely, but this is his tomb, his resting place," the woman spoke, approaching the doorway once the workers had moved away the last of the rubble.

The woman, if she could still be referred to as one, stood by the doorway, tracing the elaborate runes carved into the surface of the rock. She was once known as Seranni but that personality had long since been wiped away by the presence that had possessed her, and over the course of the past few years had corrupted her previously fair appearance as well. Her elven features were slowly morphing into something reminiscent of a darkspawn emissary, currently stuck in a grotesque transition phase between her old and new forms. Her former clansmen were also affected by corruption, but to a lesser extent. All of them showed signs of being infected by the Blight, but aside the dark blotches on their skin and falling out lumps of hair, their appearances had not changed as drastically as Seranni's.

"Nearly there," the disfigured former elf whispered to herself, her fingertips brushing against the runes and trying to remember a certain pattern. "So much time has passed... but the memory is returning... slowly, but surely..."

Finally, after several attempts, the ancient runes began to glow, triggering the locking mechanisms on the door and forcing the entrance to part with a rumbling noise, accompanied by the seeping of fine dust from the ceiling of the long sealed chamber. The disfigured Seranni stepped into the undisturbed tomb, her tainted clansmates respectfully remaining outside. In the middle of the small chamber, there stood a simple stone pedestal, the lid of the ancient coffin engraved with heraldry of the house of the one buried within the sarcophagus. There were no enchantments on the coffin itself, all it took was a little help of magic to help Seranni push the lid of the sarcophagus off, the cover smashing to bits of stone on the floor, revealing the form of the one resting inside the coffin.

"Dead, but never truly gone," Seranni spoke, holding her hands above the mummy-like corpse inside, as if trying to sense some kind of spark of life emanating from the coffin. "Halfway into the Fade... but beings like us never truly die, do we... there's enough left to call back, but a new vessel is required... Velanna!" the disfigured elf spoke to summon the one she had once called her sister, the blonde former First of her clan stepping into the chamber to answer the call. "Stand still and try to enjoy the moment... _sister_," Seranni smirked. "It is time for you to become something... greater. My equal, once more."

Ancient magic once again jumped from Seranni's fingertips, striking the chest of the desiccated corpse, pulling a strand white ghostly light from it and guiding the lingering essence of the preserved dead body towards Velanna, watching the tainted body of the elven woman accepting and absorbing the energy. Once the process had been completed, Velanna collapsed on the spot and remained lifeless on the stone floor, the disfigured Seranni waiting patiently until her 'sister' finally began to stir.

"Take it slowly," she urged the other elf. "Absorb the memories. Much time has passed since your demise, and there is a lot to learn, but I have prepared this vessel just for you. It holds everything that you need to know. Take it all in, and then we can speak."

The possessed form of Velanna lay still for a while, finally stirring again before rising to sit on her knees. Then she began to laugh in a quiet, disembodied voice, raising her arm to point at Seranni. "You!" the faux-Velanna exclaimed sounding amused. "Out of all of them... I did not expect **you** to be the one to help me find my way back..."

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Magister Emerius," 'Seranni' bowed with an exaggerated flourish. "Yes, I did not expect to speak with you ever again, old friend. But circumstances have forced me to call upon you. Search the mind of the one I have allowed you to possess, and you will discover why."

"Very well... ah... I see," Velanna, or Emerius, replied after a brief pause. "Sethius is up to his old tricks again? He was always the most... driven of us."

"He does not like to be referred to as Sethius of House Amladaris, not anymore," 'Seranni' spoke. "He calls himself Corypheus, now. He does not wish to be associated with any house of the Imperium. Probably because he sees himself as something much more than just a magister."

"Does that mean you also have denounced your ties to House Pavus, my friend?" Emerius asked thoughtfully.

"I have," 'Seranni' nodded. "What good would it do them to know that their ancestor was a part of the infamous Seven? No, these days I simply call myself... the Architect. I would appreciate if you would do the same."

"The Architect?" Emerius looked curiously at his fellow former magister. "The Architect of what?"

"You will laugh, but I will not care," Seranni, or the Architect, replied. "I tried to be the architect of peace between us, our wretched darkspawn kin and the races of the surface world. Neither of my attempts met with much success… I know you will say that it was predictable, but I had to try nevertheless. Peace might still be attainable, but for now I have been forced to reevaluate my plans... as well as address the concerns that Corypheus and his followers present."

"And those concerns would be?" Emerius asked.

"I have given you my knowledge of his plans," the Architect explained. "He intends to reshape the world of the living, and attempt once more what we tried ages ago. I do not know what you recall of what happened when we entered the Fade with our mortal bodies..."

"Enough to know that it should not be attempted again," Emerius shook his head. "You wish my aid in stopping Corypheus? The High Priest of Dumat was always the most powerful from all of us."

"I seem to recall that the High Priest of Razikale was formidable as well," the Architect replied. "But no, I do not think we can confront Corypheus directly. The forces he has gathered are too large. Still, we must do something to sabotage his efforts."

"What he intends to do will draw too much attention from the surfacers," Emerius spoke disapprovingly. "Perhaps he feels he is powerful enough to withstand the attention he will receive? He cannot hope to remain the invisible hand pulling all the strings... not when his overarching plan is to become the sole god worshipped amongst the nations of men. If the information you have planted in the mind of the vessel is accurate, of course..."

"It is, I assure you," the possessed Seranni spoke. "But now you understand my reasons for wanting to hinder Corypheus. Even if you disagree with my intention to promote peace between the darkspawn and the men, the attention that he will receive... is undesirable to us all."

"He simply does not deserve to have all this power to himself," Emerius snarled. "He was never going to share, had our first attempt been successful, surely you knew that?" The Architect replied with a slow nod. "Very well, I will help you... Architect. If only to foil the legacy of Dumat becoming the ruling dogma in the world we were supposed to rule together."

"Then we are in agreement," 'Seranni' spoke, sounding pleased as she offered a hand to her 'sister', helping the possessed Velanna rise from the floor and stand gingerly next to her. "How much do you remember of the time when we walked the Fade, old friend? My own memories are... muddled, confused. I cannot trust my recollections, but your memories have been untouched, undisturbed for centuries. Surely they are pure, more accurate."

"I... it feels as if I have lost some of them when we were banished from the Fade... I do not even remember how it happened," Emerius frowned, brow creased as the ancient magister tried to recall the memory. "I know that we were betrayed. The entire venture was a trap... and in our arrogance, we swallowed the bait, fools that we were."

"Did our own gods betray us?" the Architect asked. "I do not recall that."

"I do not think that the voices whispering in our heads were our gods at all," 'Velanna' shook her head. "I remember Razikale being silent for a long time. When the whispers came, I was all too eager to believe that my god was speaking through me again, but now I believe that it was... something else."

"Are you certain of this? I can't remember anything like it at all," the other magister spoke, appearing a little disbelieving.

"Something was trapped in the Fade... something that wanted to escape," Emerius mused thoughtfully. "As we breached the Veil, we did not simply enter the Fade ourselves... we allowed something from the other side to escape. Something that had always wanted to escape, sought a way to enter the world of men..."

"Demons? Simple demons deceiving us?" the Architect asked with disbelief. "Impossible."

"Not just any simple demons, my friend. Ancient, powerful... forbidden ones," Emerius replied. "But... the memories are unclear. Perhaps I am wrong, confused... and perhaps it no longer matters."

"Perhaps it does not," the Architect nodded in agreement. "For some reason, we became what we are now. There is no way back to what we once were, no matter what Corypheus believes. But there are new paths open to us, and only our own free will determines which path we choose to take."

"Hopefully one that eventually leads to power and recognition," Emerius spoke. "From the knowledge you have given me, I can see that my House is long gone, the descendants of my bloodline muddling about without clear purpose while wearing names unbecoming of them. The city I established, the place from which we launched our attack on the Heavens themselves... no longer named after me, an insult that I should rectify with time."

The Architect did not reply, deciding not to voice his disagreement. For now, he needed the cunning and the intelligence of another darkspawn turned magister in order to foil the plans of Corypheus. What came after should they be successful... that seemed like future too distant to make plans for.

* * *

><p><em>Winter Palace, Halamshiral <em>

"Another messenger from Duchess Florianne?" Empress Celene Valmont of Orlais sighed, frowning behind the elaborate feather adorned mask that hid her face. "No, I don't think I will grant them audience today. Make them wait until tomorrow morning. It is not as if Florianne has had anything of relevance to share as of late." She stared hard at the covering handmaiden before her. "And what of the news that I requested?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, the messengers have not reported in yet," the young woman replied, looking terrified at having to be the bearer of bad news.

"A pity," Celene muttered angrily before forcing herself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was not the girl's fault that things were such a terrible mess right now. "Leave me. I do not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon."

"Yes, Your Highness," the handmaiden retreated quickly, looking only too happy to carry out this particular order.

Once she had been left alone, Celene allowed the mask to slip off, the empress throwing it away in frustration as she got up from the sofa and walked out to the balcony of her splendorous royal bedroom. The glorious sight of the palace gardens opened before her, but this time the placid serenity and beauty failed to calm her, the queen wringing her hands and chewing on her lower lip as she frantically pondered upon the difficult issues her crumbling empire was facing. Truly, losing Briala and her resources had cost her more than she had initially thought. She had relied on her former lover far too much, the elven spymaster's network being put to good use to swiftly receive important and accurate information. Now, these resources were being used against her, and her attempts to build her own information network. Celene had to admit that Briala was irritatingly successful at leaving her crippled and starved for reliable information.

_Probably because she knows me so well and is able to predict my next move even before I have thought of it myself, _the empress thought, gritting her teeth in annoyance. _At least she seems to hate Gaspard as strongly as she hates me now. From what little information I have, she appears to be sabotaging his war efforts with equal enthusiasm. _

The empress was shaken out of her thoughts by a sudden and unexpected noise nearby, Celene looking to her left to notice a large crow sitting on the balcony railing and facing her with a frighteningly intelligent stare, opening its shiny black beak to let out another series of short caws. "Away with you, foolish bird," Celene exclaimed, swatting her hand towards the feathery menace, thinking that it would scare the bird away. Oddly enough, the crow simply jumped a few paces away from her, but remained sitting on the railing, almost as if mocking her by daring to disobey the very empress of the largest nation of Thedas.

Before Celene could do anything else to chase the annoying bird away, however, much to the empress' disbelief the form of the avian menace began to shift and blur, swiftly transforming into the shape of a beautiful dark-haired woman whose outfit did not leave much to imagination. _An assassin! _The thought shot through Celene's mind immediately, her hand drawing one of the four enchanted daggers she wore on her person at all times, her bard training kicking in instantly as she assumed a defensive posture, poised to counter the assassin's attack.

The empress was surprised for the second time in a matter of moments, however, when instead of attacking her, the dark-haired woman kneeled before her and lowered her head before Celene. "Your Highness," the woman spoke in a strange accent that Celene could not immediately place, it seemed Fereldan, but somehow more than that. "Please believe me when I say that I wish you no harm. Quite the opposite."

"An easy claim to make me drop my guard," Celene retorted, refusing to lower the dagger, the enchanted ring she wore making flames lick the blade, ready to strike. "You could start proving your intentions by revealing your name."

"I do not think that it will mean much to you, Your Highness," the woman replied, raising her head, her glinting, enchanting green eyes meeting Celene's. "My name is Morrigan, and I am what you would call an apostate mage... though, I understand that with the collapse of the Circles, every mage currently could be called an apostate."

"You are correct, Morrigan, your name means nothing to me," Celene frowned, the dagger still ready to strike. "Should it?"

"Probably not, Your Highness," the attractive apostate chuckled sardonically. "Ten years ago, during the Fifth Blight, I traveled Ferelden together with two Grey Wardens, part of a group that eventually went on to defeat the Archdemon."

"You were a part of Queen Maythre's adventuring company?" Celene asked, the dagger dropping perhaps an inch, the empress suddenly feeling very curious about her mysterious visitor.

"Oh yes," Morrigan nodded in reply. "I can claim to know Maythre quite well, Your Highness."

"Most interesting," Celene remarked. _Hmm, could it be that she is not deceiving me? _The empress thought frantically, still unsure what to make of this strange encounter. _She claims to be the hero of the Fifth Blight and that should be easy to verify. If she wanted to deceive me about her identity, she would not have used a lie like that. This speaks in her favor. _"You'll have to forgive me for being very suspicious towards those who storm my palace unannounced the way you have done."

"With due respect, Your Highness, but do you often grant audiences to random unknown apostates from the street?" Morrigan smirked. Even though she was kneeling before her, not for a moment did Celene feel that the woman actually felt any true deference towards her. Strangely enough, for once she did not find such disrespect insulting. In fact, it only made her more intrigued.

"A fair point," she conceded, lowering the blade even further, but still holding it in a position to strike from. "Why go to such trouble to see me, Morrigan?"

"Because I believe that my services could be of use to you, Your Highness," Morrigan smiled confidently.

"Do you, now?" Celene's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And just how do you think you can serve me, Morrigan? The position of the Court Enchanter is already occupied."

"Probably by some simpering sycophant only capable of cheap parlor tricks to amuse the lords and ladies of the Court," Morrigan snorted. "Your Highness, I can offer you **real** knowledge," she continued, Celene's eyes lighting a little from her words. "I am the keeper of ancient mysteries that your Circle trained mages have never heard of. I am familiar with magic and secrets that many would consider forbidden... but these are desperate times, are they not, Your Highness? Why draw lines and strip ourselves of tools that would help us secure what we want?"

"You mentioned ancient mysteries," Celene said, lowering the blade entirely, but not putting it away. "I will have you elaborate. What do you know of old elven magic?"

"Ancient elven artifacts are my specialty, Your Highness," Morrigan smiled.

"Let us see if you can prove that claim, Morrigan," Celene continued. "I will tell you a name of an elven artifact, and you will describe the object that it refers to." Morrigan nodded confidently at that. "Eluvian," the empress spoke quietly, watching the apostate's mesmerizing green eyes widening in surprise.

"I... did not expect that, Your Highness," she replied slowly. "But yes, I do know of eluvian. Most commonly they resemble large, decorative mirrors. They were quite common at the time of the Elvhenan, but only a few have survived to this day. Do you have interest in the eluvian, Your Highness?"

"Possibly," Celene replied, unwilling to give away more, especially the fact that Briala had walked out on her with all this incredibly useful knowledge about the eluvian network. "How much do you know of them, Lady Morrigan?"

"A great deal, actually," Morrigan replied teasingly. "I have restored and activated a few of them myself."

Celene felt a powerful tremble of excitement rushing through her, hoping that her guest would not have noticed her reaction. Truly, this apostate felt almost like a Maker's gift falling into her lap, just the thing she needed, especially considering what the palace workers had uncovered in a long forgotten dungeon under the Winter Palace, a broken and deactivated eluvian. "That is... most interesting, Lady Morrigan. Should I consider accepting your services, what will it cost me?"

"Nothing, Your Highness," Morrigan smiled at her. "I simply seek a powerful and influential patron who could grant me protection and provide me with the opportunity to study magic and ancient secrets in safety. I sought you out because of an oft perpetuated rumor that compared to other figures of authority you are less prejudiced towards... let us just call it Chantry-unsanctioned magic. I am here because I believe that our alliance would benefit us both greatly."

_This is very unusual... but I would be a complete and utter fool to turn this kind of an offer down, _the empress told herself before smiling at her strange guest. "Rise, Lady Morrigan," she said, her eyes lingering on the smooth alabaster skin of her enchanting guest as she rose from her kneeling position. "Please, follow me inside," she continued, welcoming the odd apostate into her boudoir. "I have decided that it would be most prudent to discuss your offer in greater detail... perhaps over a cup of Rivain spice tea?"

"Nothing would please me more, Your Highness," Morrigan replied, flashing her a confident, winning smile as they left the balcony together.

* * *

><p><em>Elven Alienage, Val Royeaux <em>

Merrill breathed out a deep sigh into her mug of watered down wine, quietly sitting in the corner of a rundown tavern in a time-forgotten corner of the capital's elven alienage, trying to decide what to do with her life. The events in Kirkwall had stolen everything she had from her, and by that she did not mean her meager material possessions. The separation from Bethany, the realization that she had lost three years of her life and her raging insecurities and doubts leading her to assume that Bethany had either died or moved on with someone else, all these things put together made her feel particularly miserable. The only logical choice before her was to find Bethany, to learn what had happened to her after Anders had unleashed the templar-mage war upon the world. The problem that Merrill faced was that she had no idea where to start looking for her lost lover.

_Should I try to return to Kirkwall? _She thought to herself, frowning into the cup. _But I keep hearing that the city hasn't recovered yet, not properly. Would Beth still be there even if she had survived those horrific events? Then again... maybe some of our friends might still be there... Aveline, or perhaps Varric? They might know where Bethany is! But... how to get to Kirkwall? I don't have any coin to pay with for passage... Elgar'nan, this is going to be more difficult than I thought! _

"Hey you... new blood," Merrill snapped back into reality at the sound of a sharp, oddly accented voice addressing her, looking up to see a fellow elven female, blonde with a tomboyish haircut and a fierce, challenging look in her eyes. "What's with the face like a slapped arse, ey?"

"Umm... excuse me?" Merrill blinked at the odd looking woman.

"What you moping about, elfy-elf?" the woman giggled, somewhat improperly as she slipped into the seat opposite to her, uninvited. "You look like you're about to start crying. Not recommended. Well, unless you cry wine. That'd improve the taste!"

"I'm sorry... I did not want to bother anyone with my problems..." Merrill apologized earnestly, earning an eye-roll from the other woman.

"Gosh, you really shouldn't apologize for that," the blonde elf shook her head. "Keep hearing how the Dalish are so tough compared to us pathetic city elves. Well, you look plenty soft to me." The woman suddenly reached out with her arm over the table for a handshake. "Name's Sera, by the way. And you're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes... I'm Merrill," she replied timidly.

"You're not doing a real good job at blending in, you know. I guess the elfy drawings don't help," Sera pointed at Merrill's face.

"Elfy... drawings?" Merrill blinked again. "Oh! You must mean my vallaslin."

"Yeah, whatever. I refuse to say something that sounds so stupid," Sera snorted. "Wish the Dalish would take their elfiness and shove it somewhere... hey, at least you're wearing proper shoes instead of walking around barefoot like the rest of them dorks."

"Oh... yes, I had to, really," Merrill smiled. "I spent many years living in the Kirkwall alienage. I must have cut my feet more than twenty times during that first year. Most of the time it was always the shards of broken bottles outside the Hanged Man. By the end of the year, Bethany took pity on me and bought a pair of decent shoes for me."

"Don't know who this Bethany is, but she seems to have more sense than you do," Sera laughed. "So whatcha doin' in the capital, passing through, or looking to stay? Isn't the alienage grand here?"

"No?" Merrill peered at the other woman, unsure of what she was getting at. From what she had seen so far, the alienage in Val Royeaux had even worse conditions than the alienage in Kirkwall.

"Of course it isn't, you silly nuggins!" Sera chuckled. "I was just using... what's it called... the thing where you say one thing and mean the complete opposite? Sarcasm... I think," she added with an uncertain frown.

"Oh, I see..." Merrill nodded, though in truth she was becoming more and more confused in the presence of this odd elf. Perhaps fortunately, a young elven boy running up to Sera and pressing a scrap of paper into her hand, before dashing off again, interrupted further conversation. Sera's face became very businesslike once she had read the message and she got up from the table, giving Merrill a conspiring wink.

"Gotta run now, luv. Must pick up some extra arrows," she flashed Merrill a predatory smile. "Going to need lots and lots of arrows!"

And with that, the strange elven woman dashed off, darting out from the dingy tavern and disappearing from Merrill's sight. The Dalish mage still hadn't quite recovered from the tempest that was Sera, when another elven woman walked up to her table with soft, graceful steps and took the seat that had just been warmed by Sera's backside. "I'm sorry about Sera," the woman spoke up in a soft, pleasant voice. Merrill quickly examined her face, conceding that the other elf was quite attractive, with intelligent brown eyes, her petite features framed by stray locks of brown hair, most of it gathered in a ponytail on her back. "She can be quite the handful, and I should know."

"Yes... she is... quite odd," Merrill admitted, eyeing the other woman warily.

"In any case, I wanted to speak with you, so I arranged for her to leave us alone," the brunette spoke. "The task should keep her occupied for most of the night."

"That message was from you?" Merrill asked.

"Oh yes," the other elf nodded with an easy smile. "Of course, she doesn't know it. Sera believes that she's... how does she put it? Helping random little people. If I'd let her just strike at any noble in this city, she would have been dead a long time ago."

"Are you... keeping her safe, or...?" Merrill was beginning to become confused again. Granted, it took very little to confuse someone like her.

"I would say that I am both using her and keeping her safe," the brunette shrugged. "She would try to kill me if she knew that she was being manipulated, but... it's for her own good. Mostly. Oh, but where are my manners... Creators, they are no better than Sera's," she shook her head, then reaching out to take Merrill's hand. "My name is Briala."

"Merrill," the elven mage returned the greeting. "Wait... _the_ Briala?"

"So you're not quite as ignorant as you appear," Briala chuckled. "At least you have heard of me."

"Only very little," Merrill hastily elaborated. "They say you used to have a lot of influence in the Royal Court, but not anymore. Now you're in charge of the elven resistance."

"That is... reasonably accurate," Briala nodded. "And what about you, Merrill? What leads a Dalish mage to Val Royeaux in these tumultuous times when most of your mage kin would stay away from this city?"

"How do you know that I am a mage?" Merrill asked worriedly. She had made sure not to be seen in public while carrying her staff... or at least she thought that she had been careful.

"Because you've been watched ever since you stepped into the alienage, dear Merrill," Briala smiled at her. "I know under which bridge you have been sleeping these past two nights. You hid your staff in the shrubbery down there."

"Elgar'nan! I did not even notice being watched!" Merrill exclaimed. "But why? I'm... nobody special."

"Ah, but perhaps you are..." Briala grinned mysteriously. "Tell me, Merrill of the Dalish... does the fate of our people concern you?"

"Of course it does!" Merrill replied heatedly. "Nothing concerns me more than restoring the proud heritage of our people! I have studied the ancient relics of the Elvhen, sometimes even against the wishes of the Keeper. Like that time when she didn't want me to restore the eluvian..."

"Eluvian... did you say eluvian?" Briala's eyes widened in surprise, Merrill quickly nodding in affirmation. "You know about the eluvian?"

"Oh, sure," Merrill shrugged as if this knowledge was something common. "I even traveled through one. It was really quite exciting! And, well, dangerous..."

"I have been waiting to meet an elven mage who would know something about the eluvian network," Briala spoke quietly. "Merrill... I have a great need for someone like you. Even more so, our people need you. I will give you whatever you desire if you would only consider helping me understand the workings of the eluvian. I will give you decent accommodations, as well as all the coin you might need. Is that something you would be interested in?"

"I, umm... really don't know," Merrill replied, looking uncertain. "I was thinking of returning to Kirkwall, but... wait, let me think a little," the Dalish mage added, trying to sort her confused thoughts.

_I do want to find Bethany, but... to do that I need coin, and I also need a place to live, I can't really sleep under the bridge all the time. And this Briala... she seems crafty enough to provide me with safety from the templars, so that could be useful. She probably has a lot of resources at hand as well... and she seems generally nice. And she's concerned for our people, so I like that about her. Yes, I think I can trust her. _

"Alright... I think I can help you... but on one condition," Merrill finally decided.

"Name it, Merrill," Briala spoke excitedly.

"I'll take all the things you offered, and one more," Merrill said with determination. "I ask that you use your resources to find someone... someone very dear to me..."

* * *

><p><em>Grey Warden Headquarters, Val Royeaux <em>

Alistair looked around the lobby of the Grey Warden base in Orlais, frowning deeply at the reception he was getting... or rather the lack of it, following his return from Adamant Fortress. The only faces giving him a stern look belonged to the iron, stone or wooden griffons and the rare royal lion statue that populated the somewhat opulent headquarters. Of course, they were opulent only compared to the rare Warden safe houses that Alistair had stayed at in Ferelden; by Orlesian standards this place was still the very definition of asceticism.

While there were never many Wardens milling around the base at any given time, he was accustomed to always seeing Clarel and at least some of the senior Wardens present, but now the halls stood completely empty, there was no sign of anyone, not even the greenest of recruits. The two Wardens with whom he had returned to the capital together had disappeared somewhere in the crowds of Val Royeaux, but then again they had spent as much time in Adamant as he had, so it wasn't as if they would know anything about this odd disappearance of their fellows.

Feeling a little awkward, Alistair finally decided to examine the office of the Warden-Commander more closely, knowing that Clarel kept particularly meticulous records, likely a remnant of her mage training. It did not take long for Alistair to locate the large leather-bound logbook in the top drawer of Clarel's desk, retrieving the tome and skipping to the last page.

_Fifteen Wardens dispatched to... Haven, two weeks ago? _Alistair's eyebrows rose from surprise as he read one of the last entries. _Maker's breath, what could possibly merit such heavy Warden presence at a forgotten pit like Haven? I still get shivers thinking about that dismal place, full with those creepy cultists. Has Clarel gone there herself, too? In that case... there's only one thing I can do, really. I must be mad, but Haven... here I come again..._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hi folks! I am going to respond to some of the things that the anonymous NotAnonymous touched upon in their review. (And thanks for those reviews by the way, they are much appreciated!) _

_As you can already imagine, Varric and Cassandra will have a different kind of relationship in this story than we saw in the game. I absolutely enjoyed their bickering in the game, but due to the way the events have unfolded here, they have no reason for rivalry because Cassandra never took Varric prisoner and didn't drag him to Orlais in chains. So yes, in a way I will miss their bickering, but on the other hand, it's an opportunity to explore something new and different. Hopefully it will work out well. _

_Re: the pairings. There are only four characters I can include in the story summary, and as you can see, there's not even room for the Inquisitor! The Bethany/Josephine pairing means that yes, at some point things will probably happen between them, but it doesn't mean that Merrill is out of the picture. If anything, I should say that this would be a Bethany/Merrill/Josephine love triangle. I don't even know how that's going to end, to be honest. Sometimes it is only during writing that I sense some characters having better chemistry than the others. Maybe nobody has to be the odd one out! Stranger things have happened. _

_Briala and Celene both want the eluvian network for one thing – to be able to move their forces around faster. For example, if Celene had this knowledge, she could probably use it to crush Gaspard quite quickly. _

_And now onto the next chapter… here comes the Inquisitor! _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

_Village of Haven_

Alistair climbed off from the back of his horse just short of entering the village of Haven, standing at the side of the narrow mountain road, taking in the sights that he had not witnessed in a decade. Certainly, a lot had changed about Haven since they had discovered the forgotten village ten years ago. Several new buildings had been erected, and the beaten path leading to the village certainly hadn't been this well traveled on their previous visit. Still, he could recognize familiar sights, such as the old chantry, still standing as impressive as ever, Alistair recalling how he and Maythre's group had freed the imprisoned Brother Genitivi from the chantry's dungeons all those many years ago.

During his exile from Ferelden and those several years he had spent wandering the Free Marches, wondering just what to do with his life and often deciding that drinking himself into stupor was the best course of action, Alistair had not truly kept up with the politics of Ferelden or Thedas on the whole. Only after he had come back to his senses, traveled to Weisshaupt and had then been assigned to report to the Warden-Commander in Orlais, Alistair finally began to feel that his life could still serve some kind of greater purpose, and he had also become more interested in the politics of Thedas. The year had been 9:36 Dragon, exactly one year after the Divine Justinia V had made her pilgrimage to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and decided to fund the restoration of the village of Haven and the nearby temple.

At the time, Alistair had thought it to be a very daring venture. Queen Maythre considered Haven to be a part of the Fereldan lands, even if she was quite content for the land to lay forgotten, caring little for something of significance to the Andrastian faith. The Orlesians clearly disagreed, a noble family in Halamshiral even coming up with ancient treaties supposedly granting the land surrounding Haven to them, urging Empress Celene to persuade Maythre into acknowledging their claims. Celene and Maythre had exchanged several official letters to that regard, not coming to any consensus, and then the civil war had broken out in Orlais, diverting Celene's attention from something as trivial as defending the interests of ailing Orlesian nobility. Meanwhile, Haven was being rebuilt and pilgrims were flocking in from every corner of Thedas, the Divine confident that Queen Maythre would not dare to move against the Chantry and face the outrage from the rest of Thedas... something that, truth be told, hadn't stopped her before.

Alistair's eyes turned to the little footpath leading out from the village and further up the mountain, towards the temple, across the Penitent's Crossing, the massive bridge that like the temple itself had endured the passage of time with remarkable perseverance. The Temple of Sacred Ashes could not be seen from the village, indeed, one needed to make nearly halfway up the mountain path leading out of Haven to be able to spot the temple, its cleverly chosen location keeping it hidden for nine hundred years, something that still struck Alistair as unthinkable. Certainly, this place did not appear on most maps before he and Maythre's group had rediscovered it, but even so, lost travelers surely ended up stumbling this way every year. It all made the Grey Warden wonder just how many innocent victims the mad Disciples of Andraste had slaughtered over the years in order to preserve their secret.

_I wonder what other secrets the ancient temple was hiding, _Alistair thought, taking the reins of his horse and beginning to walk towards the village on foot, needing to stretch his legs following the lengthy ride. _We were feeling a little too rushed to do proper exploration. Angry cultists wanting to kill you will do that. And drakes, must not forget them. Of course, there was the urn, and I don't think Maythre ever really planned to return it, even after she had cured Eamon with the ashes. Of course, now the Chantry faithful have cleaned up the place and picked it clean from all the artifacts left behind by the Disciples. I wonder what sort of secrets they found… it's strange that nothing has been shared about any discoveries made here. There had to be something, if this Havard who carried Andraste's ashes back to Ferelden truly had been one of her disciples. Sure, they were all as mad as nugs in mating season by the time we found them, but when they first came here, they were probably all devout worshippers. Maybe something was left behind from those early days... something besides the urn... _

"Running a little late, are you?" Alistair suddenly found himself addressed by a melodic female voice, the Warden shaking his head to clear his thoughts. The woman facing him was exceptionally beautiful, with wide, expressive brown eyes, full lips forming a pleasant smile and long dark brown hair falling loosely down her shoulders. She was wearing simple Chantry robes of a lay sister, but they clung to her body tantalizingly in all the right places, Alistair having to summon all of his willpower in order to stop staring. "The stables are getting quite full, but we should be able to find space for one more," the woman continued. "I'm sure you are aware that horses can't manage the path to the temple."

"Umm... yes, of course," Alistair replied, allowing a young stable boy to run up and take the reins of his horse from him. "What do you mean, running a little late, though? Has the Conclave begun already?" On his way here, Alistair had met plenty of people heading to Haven, both mages and templars, and some of them had explained to him what they had heard about this Conclave. While Alistair was glad to hear encouraging developments regarding the mage-templar conflict, this still did not answer his question why Clarel had arranged for such heavy Gray Warden presence at Haven. As important as Alistair found the events shaping the world of Thedas, this really was not a Gray Warden concern, so Warden-Commander's actions seemed very curious and merited an investigation.

"No, no, not yet," the woman smiled back at him. "I simply meant that all the Wardens had already arrived, and we were not expecting anyone else. I am guessing that you will want to join your fellows," she added, pointing in the direction of the mountain path, leading to the temple.

"Yes... eventually," Alistair replied, unwilling to give away too much. "I would not mind resting a little before making my way up to the temple," he said, hoping to learn more. "It was quite the grueling trip from Val Royeaux."

"I understand completely," the Chantry sister nodded. "There is a tavern catering to the needs of the pilgrims. You can catch your breath there."

"A tavern, well, that's an improvement from my previous visit," Alistair chuckled to himself. _And it is also a good place to overhear some rumors. I'd like to find out more about what the Wardens are supposed to be doing here before I head up to the temple. _

"You've been here before?" the woman gave him a curious look. "As a pilgrim?"

"No… not quite," Alistair shook his head. "That was... before Justinia's pilgrimage, actually. I could tell you more, if you'd care to join me at the tavern," he added, hoping to learn more from the attractive and accommodating Chantry sister.

"An intriguing offer, alas, my work here is not done," she gave him a slightly regretful smile. "Perhaps later, should you still be in the village? I'm Sister Bethany, by the way," she added, extending her arm for a warm handshake.

"Grey Warden Alistair," he smiled in reply. "And what work are you carrying out exactly, Sister Bethany?"

"Oh, just meeting and greeting everyone coming in for the Conclave," Bethany replied. "And, well... making sure that nobody who's not supposed to be here makes their way up the path to the temple. I'm sure we all wish for peace between mages and the templars and would not want to see something done to sabotage the Conclave, yes?"

"Of course," Alistair nodded. _So she's more than just a wide-eyed, welcoming Chantry Sister. Interesting... _"I hope to see you later in the tavern, Sister Bethany," he added with a smile, turning to walk away.

* * *

><p>Bethany gave a small nod of her head accompanied with a gesture of thumbs up as a small delegation from Starkhaven, consisting of templars and Chantry sisters, passed by, the youngest of the Hawke sisters satisfied with the answers she had received from the latest arrivals. The agent stationed on the roof of one of the buildings caught her signal and went on to alert the gate guards at the mountain path, telling them to let the Starkhaven delegates pass. Of course, there was no such thing as an official guest list for the Conclave, everyone with a stake in the matter or anyone who was in some way affiliated with either of the warring sides, had been invited by the Divine herself to participate. It didn't make Bethany's job any easier, but she was fully determined to make sure nothing like the disaster with Anders repeated itself.<p>

"Everything clear?" she turned around to face Varric approaching her. Even in the cold, crisp mountain air, Varric was keeping his leather jacket unbuttoned to showcase his ever-impressive chest hair, Bethany feeling a little envious at the apparent dwarven tolerance of cold.

"Seems so," Bethany nodded in reply. Working together with Varric to expand the spy network, just in case the Divine's plan for the Inquisition would have to be put into action, was working out great so far. Incorporating some of the people in the Divine's service into Varric's existing network had created some slight tensions on both sides, but everyone had accustomed to the new situation quickly enough. "What is the Warden doing?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the tavern.

"Just sitting there and relaxing, enjoying his drink and trying to overhear some rumors," Varric replied with a shrug. "Seems like a decent bloke to me."

"So did Anders," Bethany muttered darkly, feeling frustrated. According to the information she had been given, all the Wardens that were supposed to be here, had already arrived several days ago, grim faced and refusing to answer any of her questions, passing through the village and heading straight up to the temple to assume their duties of guarding Divine Justinia V. This Alistair was far more amiable than the other Wardens, but... perhaps that in itself was more suspicious, especially considering that he wasn't supposed to be here. "I won't let anything to happen to the Conclave, Varric. This temple is precious to our faith... the Divine says it is the soul of the Chantry, and I am starting to see why. I won't let anyone repeat what Anders did in Kirkwall."

"I wish you'd stop blaming yourself for that, Sunshine," Varric shook his head sadly. "But we'll keep watching the Warden, make sure he doesn't do something unwise."

"Good, I'll speak with him once I'm done here," Bethany replied. "If he has any dark intentions, I'm sure I can get him to slip up. I have my ways to loosen tongues…" she added with a wink directed at Varric.

"It's still hard to believe how much you have changed, Sunshine," Varric frowned a little. "Where did that innocent, naive girl I knew has gone? I wonder what your sister would say if she saw you now…"

"I pray that I will get to hear it from her," Bethany said hopefully. "But Varric, how could I not change, though… how could I go through something like that unaffected? You know that the events of Kirkwall changed Riona, too."

"They most certainly did," Varric admitted sadly. "Anyway... can't be that many arrivals left, surely? I heard that the Divine plans to open the talks tomorrow morning."

"Yes... I received the news about the final big delegation from Antiva City on the road, they should arrive any moment now," Bethany replied. "And I don't actually need to interrogate them, they can be allowed to pass freely."

"How come?" Varric asked, before snapping his fingers in realization. "Antiva, of course... that diplomat friend of yours already checked them for you?"

"More than that, she's actually traveling with them," Bethany smiled, looking past the village gates, hoping to see the Antivan delegation appearing on the road to Haven.

"Surely she didn't have to do that," Varric gave her a questioning stare.

"I, uh, might have fed her some intriguing stories about the temple and… well, convinced her that it would provide for an interesting adventure," Bethany admitted with a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Besides, she really does need to get out of Val Royeaux now and then. I can't imagine spending time amongst all those Orlesian nobles being good for anyone's health."

"You're probably right about that," Varric chuckled. "Still... a little unusual to see you so concerned for her health..."

"Ah, and there they come," Bethany spoke quickly, relieved to see the procession of riders and their horses approaching the village, meaning that Varric was denied the opportunity to embarrass her further... at least for now.

The Antivan delegation was certainly one of the largest that had come through during the past few days, consisting of over twenty people. Templars rode at the front, followed by the Chantry priesthood, mages bringing up the rear, Bethany immediately spotting Josephine, graceful on her white horse amidst the Chantry priests. Bethany bowed before the Antivan delegation, gesticulating for them to pass, delighted to see Josephine breaking from the crowd and bringing her horse over to where she and Varric stood, the ambassador nimbly sliding out of the saddle, smiling broadly as she came to greet Bethany.

"I was beginning to worry you'll never get here!" Bethany exclaimed, having exchanged a friendly hug with the Antivan ambassador. "All that arguing between mages and templars slowing you down?"

"You would not believe how frustrating those people can be!" Josephine laughed, having made sure that the rest of the Antivan delegation was out of the earshot. "Shouldn't you introduce me to your friend, though?" she asked, giving Varric a curious glance.

"Oh yes, where are my manners," Bethany grinned, bowing faux-apologetically before Varric. "Master Varric Tethras, representative of the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, successful businessman and a renowned author."

"_The_ Varric Tethras?" Josephine gasped. "Of the 'Hard in Hightown' fame?"

"The very same," Varric chuckled. "Pleased to have your acquaintance, Lady Ruffles."

"Umm, it's actually Lady Josephine Montilyet," the Antivan ambassador corrected the dwarf.

"That's not going to stop him once he's decided on a nickname for you," Bethany laughed.

"No, it really won't," Varric gladly agreed.

"Oh... hmm, Ruffles... I suppose I can live with that!" Josephine grinned. "Especially coming from someone like Master Tethras himself."

"He calls me Sunshine," Bethany remarked.

"I love it," Josie smiled at the youngest of the Hawke sisters. "It's so very fitting."

"You two should really get a room," Varric chuckled. "And by that I meant that you should go sit down in the tavern and talk over a glass of wine, of course. Yes, that's what I meant," he added, seeing the scandalized expression on the faces of the two women.

"I do think that is an excellent suggestion," Josephine nodded. "The Antivan delegation wants to head to the temple straight away, but I was thinking... you're going to join the Divine soon, yes? Perhaps... we could go up to the temple together?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Bethany agreed. "I was planning to depart for the temple tomorrow morning. We should be able to find you a free room to sleep over tonight," she added, deciding to ignore Varric's meaningful wink, briefly touching Josie's elbow to guide her towards the tavern, the two of them departing and leaving Varric behind to keep a look out for any stragglers left behind on the road, unlikely as that was.

The Singing Maiden tavern was small by anyone's standards, less than dozen patrons currently present, allowing Bethany and Josephine to find a quieter corner where they could speak without any interruptions. Most of those arriving to the Conclave would head directly for the temple itself, stopping only for a brief rest at the Singing Maiden. Some of the delegations left several of their representatives behind for one reason or the other, and together with the Grey Warden Alistair they made up the current roster of patrons present, Alistair sitting a few tables away from Bethany and Josephine, idly sipping his ale and managing to look convincingly uninterested in the conversations of the others.

"So, have you seen the temple already?" Josephine asked excitedly once they had sat down, Bethany replying with a quick nod. "It must be marvelous from how everyone is talking about it. I can't wait to go up there and see it for myself!"

"It is very impressive... and there is this air of mystery surrounding it... though I'm not sure the Divine would appreciate me saying that," Bethany winked at her new friend.

"How do you mean that?" Josephine asked, looking curious.

"Well, you know the history behind the temple, right?" Bethany said, Josie replying with a quick nod. "I mean, these Disciples of Andraste... talk about a creepy cult! How do you go from building a shrine to preserve the ashes of our Prophet to human sacrifices and worshipping dragons? Still... you would think there was something from those ancient ages that could tell us more about the woman Andraste was. I know that the Divine sent Chantry scholars to sweep the tunnels and recover what relics they could, but it seems like nobody knows what they actually found."

"Do you have a theory on that?" Josie prodded. "Maybe they have not finished their work yet?"

"Maybe," Bethany shrugged. "I saw some of the passages in the temple being sealed, supposedly for safety reasons. I'm not really sure what's going on there, but I hope to ask Justinia about it later. It's not like she has the time to indulge my idle curiosity while preparing for peace talks." _I just hope that the secrecy is not because of something they discovered in the temple that should not be shared with the faithful, _Bethany added silently, deciding not to voice her ungrounded doubts to Josephine and anyone else that could overhear them. _Sealing parts of the temple could be done for various reasons, safety being one of them. I saw those sacrificial slabs of the Disciples, stones that had soaked up blood of hundreds over the centuries. Perhaps the faithful don't really need to know about that... to see how far from one can stray from the true path while still thinking that they are fulfilling the wishes of the Maker. _

"Maybe the Divine will tell you more later. And maybe I'll manage to persuade you to share some of those secrets with me," Josie winked at her, then looking sharply to the left at someone approaching their table, Bethany also turning her head to face Cassandra, the Seeker looking concerned as she walked up to them, refusing to take the seat that Bethany quickly offered to her.

"Something the matter, Cassandra?" Bethany asked, frowning a little. So close to the start of the Conclave, she really did not want to hear any bad news.

"I saw him again, but just as before, he managed to elude us," Cassandra said, looking angry with herself. "I don't like this, Bethany."

"Should I warn the Antivan delegation before they depart, Lady Pentaghast?" Josephine asked with concern.

"Ah... Lady Montilyet," Cassandra appeared a little unsettled, as if she hadn't noticed Josephine sitting opposite to Bethany. "Forgive my manners... but, no, I am certain this is not of great concern. I simply... would like to see this man apprehended and questioned. Someone skulking around and being evasive... it's not helping to put my mind at ease."

"Some strange elf has been sighted around the temple and the village," Bethany explained. "A bald headed mage. Perhaps he simply wants to attend the Conclave, but is too afraid to approach us? It would make sense if he is one of the Dalish."

"I suppose it could be true," Cassandra conceded. "Ah, I wish tomorrow would be here already, the Conclave would prove to be successful, and my frayed nerves could finally settle."

"Hear, hear," Bethany chuckled, raising her glass of wine at the Seeker. "Cassandra, could you please find a room at the Chantry for Lady Montilyet to stay overnight? We will depart for the temple together, tomorrow."

"Of course, I will see to it right away," Cassandra nodded. "If you would follow me, Lady Montilyet?"

"As you would have it, Lady Pentaghast," Josephine rose from the table to follow Cassandra, turning to smile at Bethany. "I hope we can continue our riveting conversation later, Lady Hawke."

"I would be delighted to, Lady Montilyet," Bethany replied with a smile, watching Cassandra and Josephine depart. She was about to rise and head out of the tavern herself, but all of a sudden she found the mysterious Grey Warden standing by her table.

"Sister Bethany... as in, Bethany Hawke?" he spoke, looking down at her.

"What of it, Warden Alistair?" Bethany asked.

"May I?" he pointed at the empty chair opposite to Bethany, sitting down once he received her nod of permission. "I may have something for you... a message to pass from someone you might know."

"That sounds... very cryptic," Bethany narrowed her eyes at the Grey Warden.

"Just hear me out, Sister Bethany," Alistair spoke. "Three months ago, while I was stationed at Adamant Fortress, we received some most unexpected visitors, appearing as if out of nowhere. And if you know anything about Adamant, you would know why visitors are such a rare surprise there." Bethany nodded to that before Alistair continued. "One of these two guests was an elven woman, an apostate mage who claimed to be looking for you. Her name was Merrill of the Clan Sabrae."

"Merrill?" Bethany gasped, her hands trembling so hard that she spilled some of the wine without noticing. "Maker... she's alive? I had already given up hope!" She took a few moments to recollect herself. "Where... where is she now?"

"I accompanied her to Velun," Alistair shrugged. "From there, she planned to head to Val Royeaux, but she did not say what she was going to do after that. And that was almost three months ago. So... no, I have no idea where she might be now, but I thought that it would be comforting for you to know that Merrill is alive. She was very... upset at the thought that you might have perished in the Kirkwall rebellion."

"Yes... yes, it is a great comfort, Warden Alistair..." Bethany muttered, quickly gulping down all her remaining wine, hoping that it would help her to recompose herself. "I thank you for bringing these news to me... but excuse me now... I must go and think more on this..."

With trembling legs, Bethany left the Singing Maiden, pressing her back against the wall outside and breathing heavily, the crisp, cool mountain ail filling her lungs and slowly helping her calm down. Merrill was alive and looking for her... she was relieved to hear the news, yes, but... the joy she was feeling was immediately thrown in sharp conflict with her other feelings, the powerful attraction that she had lately begun to develop for Josie. _Maker, this is going to be one big mess to sort out... _

* * *

><p><em>Temple of the Sacred Ashes <em>

Maxime Trevelyan sighed, having finished combing his short dark hair, critically inspecting his appearance in a broken shard of mirror for what must have been the fifth time that evening. Everything about this... Conclave seemed so dull, at least thus far, there was nothing else for him to do than to remain cooped up in his small chamber at this grim temple, Maxime along with the others ordered to wait patiently until the Chantry representatives worked out the final few kinks before the peace talks could begin in earnest.

Oh, it was not as if Maxime was opposed to peace between mages and the templars, far from it. He simply did not understand why he had to be a part of it; he had nothing to do with this conflict. Just because his sister happened to be a skilled mage with personal stake to see peace restored, he had not expected that his father would contact him, the black sheep of the Trevelyan family, to specifically ask him to be in charge of the guard detail protecting his sister and other mages from Ostwick traveling to the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Certainly, his reputation in the circles of mercenaries for hire had grown over the past decade, but even so, Maxime knew that it would have taken extraordinary circumstances for his father to end his forced exile, to welcome him back and ask for his aid, in return for a promise to be welcomed back amongst the family, to have his part of inheritance, no matter how small, restored to him.

The offer had been too tempting for Maxime to reject, even if he did not particularly look forward to all the family dinners he would be expected to be a part of once again. From his loyalist mage sister to his two brothers, both vehement supporters of the Chantry, everyone in his family was so very... proper, so zealously committed to the worship of Maker, something that had caused him to rebel in the first place. The first disappointment for his father came when he was rejected from templar training, the holy warriors of the Chantry claiming that Maxime was too wild and unpredictable to serve in the Templar Order.

That was only the start of the chain of events that would eventually see him exiled. His father had managed to successfully persuade the Revered Mother of the Ostwick Chantry into accepting Maxime as a lay brother, hoping that the presence of the many devout worshippers of the Maker would even out the character of his unruly son. However, his father had miscalculated, forgetting about one of Maxime's greatest weaknesses to this very day... his inability to resist beautiful women. In a few months, Maxime had managed to seduce several of the attractive lay sisters amongst the Ostwick Chantry, and it was only a matter of time until a scandal broke out and Lord Trevelyan was forced to come and collect his unruly youngest son from causing more mischief and further shame upon their proud family name.

Next, his father had sent him to one of the small family holdings near the city of Markham, the estate that he was supposed to inherit after the passing of the family patriarch. Maxime was expected to prove himself by showing that he could run the estate as its lord, but old sins caught up to him again. The lord of the neighboring lands had a beautiful daughter, promised to some powerful noble in Markham, but she fell for Maxime's charms within a few weeks of their first meeting. Unfortunately, the young woman became pregnant from their frequent passionate encounters, a disastrous turn of events for the two lovers. His father had to use his considerable influence amongst the Marchers, as well as his impressive wealth, in order to silence the slighted noble, having to pay significant reparations in compensation when the would-be husband in Markham understandably declared the pre-marital agreement null and void when the rumors of his supposed bride being pregnant from another man reached his ears.

This had proved to be the last straw for Lord Trevelyan. Maxime suddenly found himself denounced by his family and kicked out on the street with nothing but the clothes on his back. His reputation in the Free Marches had been ruined as well, the citizens of Ostwick and its neighboring cities knew him as someone not to be trusted, and so he had hid himself in the hold of a ship heading for Amaranthine and sailed across the Waking Sea to Ferelden. Granted, it hadn't been his wisest decision ever, because a few months later the Fifth Blight had broken out in Ferelden, and he found himself amongst the many mercenaries recruited to fight under the banner of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. Somehow he had managed to come out of the whole mess alive, and even with some respect and recognition amongst his peers, something that helped him hugely in establishing his own mercenary company. Maxime left Ferelden during the civil war in 9:33 Dragon, certain that Queen Anora would be routed by Arl Eamon's forces, unwilling to find himself in Ferelden once the blood mage rumored to be behind everything that Arl Eamon did, rose to power and began the inevitable purges to ferret out those who had stood against her.

Since then, Maxime had worked all around Thedas, following the trail of coin to Orlais, Nevarra, and lately back to the Free Marches where almost ten years later nobody fortunately recognized him. He had made inquiries about the fate of the woman who was supposed to give birth to his child ten years ago, becoming greatly angered when he learned the full truth of where his actions had led. The young woman's father had tried to force her to get rid of the child, to terminate the pregnancy, despite the fact that the arranged marriage had already fallen through. The young woman had refused and had instead committed suicide by jumping from the tower of her father's castle. Maxime pondered using his mercenary company to take revenge on the despicable noble, but before he had managed to launch an attack, his father's unexpected summons reached him, calling upon him to return to Ostwick and then accompany his sister on the road to Haven, deep into the Southern Ferelden.

And that was where he currently found himself, in the ass-end of nowhere, waiting for the peace talks to begin and hopefully swiftly conclude, unlikely as it seemed. Certainly, there was no shortage of beautiful women here, amongst all the participating factions, but they were all far too preoccupied with the Conclave itself and did not respond well to his attempts at flirting. Also, the guards of all delegations were expected to remain confined to their quarters, and he had already been admonished for breaking this rule several times, but that was never going to stop Maxime once her became sufficiently bored. Surely there was nothing wrong with him stepping outside of his drab chamber to look for Cecilia, his dearly beloved sister, currently in talks with the mages of Starkhaven, trying to agree on a unified stance in the upcoming talks.

Wearing the most innocent expression on his face in preparation of encountering a particularly suspicion-filled Chantry sister, Maxime wandered through the halls of the dimly lit, oppressive ancient temple, feeling bored and looking for something interesting to capture his attention. There were the occasional groups of mages and templars conferring amongst themselves, usually behind closed doors, but mostly the temple was quiet. Perhaps this relative silence was the reason why he was able to overhear a deep voice as he was approaching the part of the temple that the Divine herself had appropriated as her quarters. He could not overhear exactly what was being said, but he was immediately certain of one thing, the voice belonged to someone who had no business being in the temple.

Sensing the opportunity to uncover some nefarious plot, Maxime all but ran towards the heavy wooden doors that led into the Divine's quarters. Something definitely was wrong here; he could hear that disembodied voice speaking again and he could see flickers of malevolent red glow through the cracks in the doors. Maxime pushed against the door, failing to make them budge, but the youngest son of the Trevelyan family did not despair. Taking a little run-up, he threw his muscled frame against the door, forcing them open with his shoulder and stumbling into a larger hall, facing a sight he could not have dreamed up in his worst nightmares.

The Divine was there, held in place by tendrils of red and green magical energy, surrounded on all sides by men and women in Grey Warden armor. In front of the Divine stood a creature most disgusting, some kind of a cross between a darkspawn emissary and a human, only much more ugly, channeling a ray of green energy from a strange looking orb into the chest of the barely conscious leader of the Andrastian faith.

"What is going on here?" Maxime exclaimed, against his better judgment immediately attracting the attention of the foul darkspawn and the Wardens. Before anyone could say or do anything, however, the orb fell from the darkspawn creature's hands and began to roll towards Maxime, coming to rest at his feet. Without thinking, Maxime impulsively bent down to pick it up, ignoring the roar of defiance from the darkspawn creature.

The next thing Maxime Trevelyan knew was his body suddenly seizing with debilitating pain, the world around him exploding in blindingly white fury.

* * *

><p>Flemeth stood behind a heavy curtain bearing heraldry of the Andrastian Chantry, the Witch of the Wilds shrouded by an invisibility spell that left her impossible to detect as she observed the ritual, taking place in front of her. Corypheus stood before the struggling Divine, the helpless old woman being held in place by the magic of the possessed Grey Wardens, the magister readying the foci orb of Fen'Harel, drawing upon the ancient elven magic that in his arrogance he had not bothered to truly comprehend, then unleashing the magic that was supposed to bring him physically across the Veil and into the Fade.<p>

The old witch did not doubt that the orb was capable of doing such, in fact, she already could feel the Veil weakening and dissolving around them as Corypheus poured more and more of his power into the channeling energies of the orb. Flemeth was more concerned about all the other things that might happen should Corypheus complete his ritual and open a gateway into the Fade. _A dashing hero should burst through those doors right about now, _Flemeth thought to herself, a little nagging doubt beginning to creep into her mind that perhaps this time she had miscalculated her machinations. Just then, the doors to the Divine's quarters were thrown wide open, a man charging in and beginning to shout at Corypheus.

_Ah, and there we go, _Flemeth chuckled knowingly to herself. _He does not look particularly bright, but handsome as far as men go, and seems to have air of an experienced adventurer about him. Yes... he will do nicely. I had wished for a mage, of course. This one will never find his way out of the Fade, not without my help. _

There was a barely noticeable blur behind the curtain as Flemeth cast a subtle spell, everyone's attention on the intruder and never noticing the flash of magic that raised the Divine's limp arm and propelled it forward to strike the elven orb out of the hands of Corypheus, the glowing sphere bouncing towards the surprised looking man at the door, who predictably bent down to pick it up.

_And here we go again... the creation of another hero, another legend... I will never become tired of this game, _Flemeth laughed to herself as the world around her burst into flame and exploded, feeling the familiar pull of the Beyond, giving herself to the draw of magical currents, throwing her into the Fade together with Corypheus, his Warden lackeys, and Flemeth's own chosen tool of destruction of the ancient magister.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Village of Haven_

"I can hardly believe it!" Bethany laughed, sitting on the bed next to Josephine in the sparsely decorated chantry quarters that had been provided for the ambassador. "And what did Madame De Fer say to that?"

"Oh, it seemed as if she was incapable of speech for a good while following those news," Josephine chuckled in reply. "I had never seen the woman always ready with a quick verbal barb looking so shocked! Madame De Fer had been so comfortable with always being in Celene's good graces, she never expected something like this to happen."

"I know... I'm just wondering why the Empress no longer needs the advice of the Court Enchanter," Bethany mused.

"I think that there can be only one explanation for it," Josie replied. "Empress Celene is receiving counsel from someone else."

"That is what my sources say as well," Bethany agreed. "We just don't know who that might be. Celene is being very secretive, understandable as it is."

"Yes, she's been betrayed by her supposed allies one time too many," Lady Montilyet nodded before reaching for a bottle on the nightstand. "Anyway, more wine?" she offered to Bethany, but before the other woman could reply, they suddenly heard a strange, loud thud in the distance, as if opening a new bottle of finely aged wine, only hundred times more louder.

"I wonder what was that-..." Bethany began, but she never got to finish her sentence. Massive shaking suddenly seized the Chantry building and threw them both out of the bed and onto the floor in a heap.

"Maker... is that a quake?" Josephine gasped, gingerly disentangling her limbs from Bethany's, but not quite daring to rise yet. "I hear you can get them in the Frostback Mountains now and then..."

"I'm not sure..." Bethany replied, also deciding to wait a little, but when subsequent waves did not follow, she finally got back up to her feet. "It seems to have passed. We should go and survey the damage outside."

The two of them all but ran to the doors leading out of the chantry, a small group of equally curious people already having gathered there, gasping and pointing at something up in the sky. Bethany and Josephine quickly joined the others, at first not understanding why they were looking up at the sky when this was clearly a common earthquake, but as they both glanced upwards, the reason for the shocked reaction of the others revealed itself. Bethany barely bit back a gasp, but Josie could not stop a cry of surprise tumbling from her lips when she saw that the sky had changed its color into sickly green, a massive tornado-like swirl having appeared out of nowhere over the mountaintops, spinning slowly and making them all feel ill simply from staring at it for too long.

"What is going on here?" Bethany suddenly heard the voice of Cassandra, the Seeker coming towards them, clutching her left side and wincing painfully.

"We thought that it was an earthquake, but..." Josephine replied, but stopped there, not sure how to continue and explain the disturbing sight in the sky.

"It was no earthquake," Cassandra shook her head and frowned. "I heard a loud explosion... I think it came from the mountains... from the temple..."

"Maker preserve us," Bethany paled, starting to shake like a leaf from the terrible realization. "The Divine... the Conclave... what if..."

"We don't know that yet," Cassandra cut in sharply, just the kind of tone that Bethany needed to help her refocus. "After the explosion, there came the tremor that threw us all to the ground. Then came a massive gust of wind… it picked me up from the ground and threw me into the wall of one of the houses. As I was getting up, I saw some of the horses galloping past me... their bindings must have come loose, so they ran off, spooked."

"Wonderful," Bethany muttered, though right now most of her thoughts were with the Divine and the rest of the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

"Look! What is that?" Bethany felt Josephine suddenly grabbing her arm and forcing her to look upwards into the sky. Flashing bits of green seemed to be falling out of the slowly swirling tornado, almost like a shower of falling stars tumbling from the sky. Two of the swiftly growing, sparkling green dots were heading straight for them, but shocked from the unexpected sight, all they could do was to stand as if frozen and watch as the flashes of green energy impacted with the ground, one hitting an empty tent some twenty yards away from them, the other appearing to strike right next to the village stables, further scaring the already frightened horses.

"Watch out! Everyone, get back into the chantry!" Bethany cried out in warning as she recognized the familiar shapes rising from the ground where the bolt of energy had struck. She could spot the fairly weak wraiths, several shades, but also one or two of the more pesky terror demons appearing before their eyes, having inexplicably fallen from the giant hole in the sky.

"I might need your help with this, Bethany," Cassandra stated matter-of-factly, drawing her sword. "Get the others inside and join me as soon as you can."

"Get back, everyone!" Bethany exclaimed, pushing the frozen onlookers back towards the safety of the chantry walls. "Didn't you hear what she said?" Finally the others moved and returned to the chantry, trembling and pale faced, Bethany grabbing Josephine by the hand and dragging the disturbed looking ambassador back to her room. "Stay here and don't come out until I return, do you hear?" she asked, squeezing Josephine's hands supportively. "You'll be alright, Josie, I promise."

"But will you be alright?" Josephine asked in a trembling voice. "Just how is the Seeker expecting you to help her?"

"Just stay here, and I'll explain in a moment," Bethany replied quickly, suddenly remembering that Josephine was not even aware of her talent for magic. Silently praying to herself that the Antivan would not despise her after learning of her being a mage, Bethany quickly ran back to her room, stripped off the useless robe of the Chantry sister, pulled out her carefully folded, beautifully crafted robes of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi and quickly donned the enchanted fabrics, then reaching behind her bed and retrieving her most prized possession, The Hawke's Key, an extraordinarily powerful staff that she had inherited during the adventure in the Grey Warden prison at the Wimmark Mountains, legacy of her father Malcolm.

It had been some time since Bethany was last forced to wear her mage kit and actually use her gift, but it all came back to her quickly once she had donned her robes and felt the familiar outline of the staff in her hands. Somehow, she almost felt more alive in these moments, more in tune with her true nature, realizing how much she had missed the feeling of channeling magical energy, being a conduit for the breathtaking power of the Fade, allowing it to surge forth and directing it to crush her enemies. The desire to use her magic grew with every passing moment, making her fingertips itch and tingle, sparkling a little with flashes of energy, and Bethany hesitated no longer, dashing out of her room, first stopping at Josephine's quarters and knocking, the ambassador's doors opening immediately. Josephine let out a quiet gasp as she took in Bethany's changed appearance, noticing the swirling magic fighting to break out and surrounding the elaborate staff as well as her hands with a soft glow.

"You... you are a mage..." the Antivan stated somewhat uselessly, too surprised to say anything else.

"Yes... I was going to tell you," Bethany admitted a little ruefully. "Circumstances forced me to reveal it sooner than I had intended to. I hope you're not mad at me."

"Just... just save us, and I won't be mad!" Josephine exclaimed worriedly. "And Bethany... you look... really impressive..." she added with a slight blush in her cheeks.

"Uh... thank you," Bethany managed an awkward smile in reply. "Cassandra needs me, though. Lock the doors, alright?" Josephine nodded and closed the doors, Bethany feeling a little more reassured when she heard the scrap of the key turning as she was already hurrying away and out of the chantry to find Cassandra slowly getting overwhelmed by the host of demons out in the large courtyard of the chantry. Bethany immediately noticed that Cassandra's frame was glowing with a magical barrier, cast by a helpful mage, but curiously enough she could not see anyone nearby.

Even though Bethany would have been the first to admit that she was woefully out of practice, once she was thrust back into the action, she found that spell selection and the casting itself came like second nature to her, the youngest of the Hawke sister's simply allowing her instincts to guide her. The force magic that she had practiced extensively in those few years she had spent in the Kirkwall Circle always came to her aid when having to control a battlefield swarming with enemies, and right now, it was the exact and proper tool with which to provide aid to Cassandra. Bethany quickly laid down a gravitic field and then followed it up with the pull of the Abyss, watching with content as the lesser demons swarming Cassandra were pulled away from the Seeker and into the ring that slowed them down greatly and made them far less threatening.

Once the demons had been separated from the relieved Seeker, Bethany turned to offense, a cone of blinding white jumping from the tip of the Key and blasting the surprised demons, shattering a few outright and freezing some of the others. Those who were not affected, immediately realized that Bethany was the greatest threat on the battlefield and now moved to attack her, but Cassandra was there in an instant, the Seeker battered and bleeding, but still bravely fighting on to protect her friend.

"Where are those terror demons?" Bethany asked, breathing heavily. While her spellcasting was still as sharp as ever, the frequent parties she had attended in Val Royeaux appeared to have left her a little out of shape. "Did you dispose of them already?"

"I did not," Cassandra grunted, shattering a frozen shade by bashing it with her shield. "Behind you!" she called out a warning, Bethany swirling around to find two of the terror demons suddenly materializing behind her back and knocking her down to the ground. Strangely enough, she barely registered the impact with the frozen ground, then realizing that she too was protected by a magical barrier, not of her own creation. While still on the ground, she quickly scanned the battlefield, finally noticing their mysterious benefactor standing behind a tree and providing the support with his protective magic, the bald elf whom they had seen skulking around the village several times before.

Bethany finally turned her attention back to the terror demons lurking above her, prepared to unleash a telekinetic burst to send them flying, when another ally suddenly charged onto the battlefield, knocking one of the terror demons down with his heavy shield, while easily slicing the other with his shining sword, Grey Warden Alistair arriving on the scene to swiftly and efficiently dispose of the last of the demons and then gallantly helping Bethany rise back up to her feet.

"Quite the mess, isn't it?" the Warden spoke, facing her and Cassandra, the Seeker looking a little winded as she gratefully accepted a healing potion from Alistair. "You don't want to go near the stables, by the way," he added, wincing a little. "We managed to defeat all the demons there, but we were too late to help the horses. They killed all that did not manage to escape."

"So we are left with no horses at all," Cassandra remarked glumly, throwing away the empty potion vial with a disgusted noise.

"You can come out now, by the way!" Bethany called out to the elf, still hiding behind the trees. "We know that you are an ally… you don't have to fear us! I am a mage as well, left alone by the templars, and I can promise you will not suffer any mistreatment from them."

The man finally seemed to be satisfied with her words, leaving the shadow of the trees and stepping into the view, an intelligent and curious look on his face, the elven mage wearing robes that were vaguely similar to the ones Bethany remembered being used by the Keeper of Merrill's old clan. "Ah," Cassandra said, frowning a little as she faced the newcomer. "Our elusive elf finally reveals himself. What is your name, stranger?"

"Surely there are more immediate concerns than proper introductions?" the man returned in a pleasantly spoken voice. "But if you must know, my name is Solas."

"I am Bethany, and my friends are Cassandra and Alistair," the youngest of the Hawke's quickly rounded up the introductions. "Do you know anything about what is happening here?"

"I'm afraid not," Solas shrugged. "But I fear that whatever happened might have originated at the temple high up in the mountains."

"I agree completely," Cassandra nodded fervently. "We must head up there to investigate! The Divine might need our help!"

"You cannot leave the village undefended, Seeker," Alistair argued. "You saw what happened with those demons falling out of the sky. What if it happens again?"

"Something tells me that it will, so I have to agree with Alistair," Bethany said, directing a slightly apologetic stare at Cassandra.

"Very well... what is it that you propose?" the Seeker finally asked.

"I... umm, don't really know," Bethany shrugged, turning towards the Grey Warden. "Alistair, you probably have some leadership experience with the Wardens? Perhaps you have a suggestion how to deal with crisis like this?"

"Well," Alistair frowned, deep in thought as he watched the sky. The swirling green appeared as malevolent as before, but at least it was not spewing out more demons for now. "We appear to be safe for the moment. I would use this respite to gather everyone in the village and do a headcount, to see how many sword and staff wielding arms we have at our disposal."

"I can help with that," Cassandra nodded, producing a small horn and blowing on it, signaling everyone in the village to gather at the square, people slowly starting to abandon the safety of their hideouts and heading for the chantry.

"Right, well, that's a good start," Alistair nodded, looking on as Bethany approached a still slightly fearful looking Josephine, putting her arm around the Antivan woman's shoulders to comfort her. "Once we're done sorting out this crowd... then I'll explain the next part of the plan to you..."

* * *

><p>Almost two hours later, in what had been converted into an impromptu war room inside the old chantry, Bethany, Cassandra, Josephine, Alistair, Varric and Solas gathered to discuss their current situation. It was at least an hour after the midnight, but sleep was not on anyone's mind. During these past two hours, the hole in the sky had spewed out demons three more times, defeated swiftly now that the villagers had reorganized their ranks. The tear in the sky also appeared to be expanding ever so slightly, at least Bethany seemed to think so, but she had decided not to voice her observations to anyone, not wanting to sow more panic than was already spreading throughout their ranks.<p>

"So... let's see what we have," Alistair began, looking down at the parchment where he had been scribbling frantically for the past few hours. "Forty-one willing combatants... no, make that forty-two, actually… and perhaps not all of them willing as such. I mean, that Segritt fellow was not particularly inspiring. Faking an injury to avoid fighting? Ugh."

"That sounds like Segritt, alright," Varric chuckled, trying to keep the mood light despite the uncertain situation. "Tight-arsed copper-pincher if I've ever seen one, and I've met hundreds of self-important peddlers such as him."

"On the other hand, we have inspiring examples like that dwarven girl from Redcliffe," Alistair smiled. "She's not a soldier, far from it, she's a shepherd who only came here because some Marchers hired her as a guide to Haven, but she claims to be good at sneaking and handy with a bow, and above all, she wants to help. That's what truly matters."

"You can always trust a good dwarven lass to do what's right," Varric added. "Perhaps I can offer her some archery lessons later. Assuming the demons don't overrun and kill us all horribly in the next few hours."

"Always a fountain of optimism, I see, Master Tethras," Josephine muttered under her breath.

"Anyway... let's focus on the task at hand," Alistair spoke, frowning a little at the interruptions. "If I am still allowed to make the decision here then this is what we should do. We will take our forces and split them into three groups. One group will remain here to protect the village. Two groups will head up the path to the temple. I am familiar with the road up there, and I know a good spot where we can split our forces and establish a forward camp. The second group will stay there while the third group pushes on to reach the temple. I do not want to throw all our forces into the unknown, because we don't know what to expect at the temple. The forward camp will be instrumental in communication between the temple and the village, protecting the path up there and also providing support for the forces fighting to get to the temple if they are forced to withdraw. How does that plan sound to you?"

"I think that... sounds most excellent," Cassandra replied, actually looking quite impressed, and so did all the others, nodding along in support.

"We should appoint leaders for each group," Alistair continued. "We have two mages at our disposal, and I would like to take one of them up the mountain while leaving the other in the village. Lady Hawke, would you consent to organize the defense of the village?"

"Certainly, it seems like something I should be able to handle," Bethany nodded with reasonable amount of confidence.

"Seeker Cassandra, would you prefer to stay at the forward camp or press towards the temple?" Alistair asked, looking at Cassandra.

"Normally, I would insist on being a part of the group that ascends to the temple," the Seeker replied after a moment of thought. "I am desperate to learn of the Divine's fate. And yet... I know that I am very exhausted and my injuries require proper treatment. Leading the group to the temple would endanger the people under my command. This is why I must reluctantly agree to remain at the forward camp."

"Very well, in that case I will lead the group that storms the temple," Alistair nodded. "Give me a few moments to draw up the rosters of each group. We should move out in half an hour, so... make your preparations, or whatever..."

Leaving Alistair to his task of splitting up the groups, the others slowly filed out of the impromptu war room, Bethany feeling relieved about being given the assignment to remain behind in the village, and perhaps handed an opportunity to explain to Josie why she had remained silent about her magic. Seeing that Josephine had entered her quarters and left the door partly open, the youngest of the Hawke sisters was about to follow the ambassador, but at that very moment she felt herself pulled aside by none other than Cassandra, the Seeker a little forcefully directing Bethany into her ascetic quarters at the chantry. "We should talk before I depart for the temple," the stern-looking Seeker spoke resolutely.

"Of course," Bethany nodded, following the Nevarran into her room. "What's on your mind, Cassandra?"

"A great deal, actually," Cassandra sighed, allowing her worries and frustrations to slip past her usually carefully guarded expression. "I'm worried about what has happened at the temple, and what we will encounter there. And since I am heading there, we should discuss some things before my departure."

"That sounds... very ominous," Bethany replied uneasily.

"The entirety of our circumstances are very ominous," Cassandra spoke, reaching to the upper shelf of the only cabinet in the sparsely furnished room and retrieving the thick leather bound and gem-incrusted tome that Bethany remembered seeing in the Divine's possession. "Sadly, I fear that something horrible has happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Divine Justinia has not survived. In which case..." she carefully laid the heavy tome upon a table. "It will fall on us to carry out her last wishes..."

"You mean... the Inquisition?" Bethany gasped.

"Yes... and if something happens to me on the way to the temple, then... that burden will be on you, and you alone," Cassandra added grimly.

"But why me?" Bethany blinked in uncertainty. "The Divine might have come to trust me, but... at least officially, I am nobody in the eyes of the Chantry."

"That is where you are mistaken," Cassandra opened the heavy tome and withdrew a single parchment pressed between the pages, handing it over to Bethany. "The Divine signed this writ two months ago. It was to be given to you in the case of her untimely death."

"But we don't know that she's dead!" Bethany protested. "I will not read this until you have returned from the temple with your discoveries."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bethany," Cassandra sighed, shaking her head. "You already know what the writ contains, so whether you read it or not does not make any difference. I am giving it to you now because you need to know that this writ exists, in case something happens to me as well."

"Don't say that, it is too horrible to contemplate," Bethany said in a trembling voice, reluctantly taking the parchment, but refusing to look at it. "So... she decided to make it official, did she?" she added with a deep sigh. "The Left Hand of the Divine, an apostate mage... let's see how many actually acknowledge that without protest if Justinia truly is no longer with us."

"I'll make them acknowledge it," Cassandra grunted angrily. "In any case, that is a concern for later. I simply needed to make the task before us clear. If the Divine has fallen, then the Inquisition must proceed, with or without me. Do you understand?"

"I... yes... I suppose I do," Bethany finally nodded, starting to feel very overwhelmed and exhausted from everything that had happened over the past few hours.

"Obviously, the Inquisition will need help if it is to succeed," Cassandra continued. "That means smart recruiting. Yes, perhaps we should not make plans until we know the fate of the Divine, but... I cannot help but to think... we are both used to working either on our own or in small groups. We don't know how to lead on a larger scale, but you saw what happened just now with Warden Alistair. If we could have someone like him..."

"It is going to be very difficult to convince a Grey Warden to set aside his duties to the Order and come work for the Inquisition," Bethany remarked. "Difficult... but perhaps not impossible. Also, does that mean that we now trust Alistair?"

"I think we can trust him," Cassandra nodded. "Do you disagree?" Bethany shook her head vehemently. "Then I will see about asking him to join the Inquisition. And I will make sure to watch this Solas... yes, he helped us against the demons, but still... his presence here invokes a lot of questions."

"My gut instincts tell me that he means well," Bethany mused. "But I also feel as if he knows more than he's telling us. Perhaps he will share more in time? Trust needs to be built both ways, after all."

"Yes, I would agree with that," Cassandra spoke approvingly. "Alistair will include him and Varric in the group that will try to reach the temple. I will ask your dwarven friend to keep an eye on the elf, if that is alright with you?"

"Of course, Varric is always very observant," Bethany smiled. "Is there anything specific you want me to focus on while I'm in charge of protecting the village?"

"No… I simply want you to focus on your duties," Cassandra replied, giving Bethany a serious, scrutinizing stare that made the younger woman a little uncomfortable. "Listen, Bethany... I know how much you enjoy having Ambassador Montilyet with us... you have done nothing to deserve this reminder, and yet in the current circumstances, I simply must insist that you do not allow yourself to be distracted by anything."

Bethany felt heat hitting her cheeks as she blushed deeply, feeling a little offended, even if Cassandra truly did not mean to insult, simply being her usual brusque self. "You are right, I have done nothing to deserve this reminder, Cassandra," she managed to reply, a little bitterly. "I am responsible for the lives of the people under my command. I will not treat this responsibility lightly, no matter how much I like spending time with Lady Montilyet."

"I know, Bethany, and I do trust you," Cassandra said, her voice a little softer as she squeezed Bethany's shoulder comfortingly. "Now, go and ready yourself for what is to come. Maker be willing, we shall speak again once I return from the temple."

"Maker be willing, indeed," Bethany sighed, clutching Justinia's letter pronouncing her the Left Hand of the Divine to her chest as she left Cassandra's room to return to her duties.

* * *

><p><em>Temple of the Sacred Ashes Approach <em>

"Well... this does not look promising..." Alistair sighed, staring ahead at what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, which was not a great deal. Some of the walls still stood, but much of the ancient structure had been reduced to rubble, large rocks still searing hot and glowing red from the massive heat generated by the explosion. On their way to the temple, they had stumbled upon many corpses littering the mountain path, charred husks having been thrown for hundreds of yards together with stone and mortar. Here, closer to the heart of the temple, there were no remains to be found, it was as if the sheer power of the catastrophic event had simply obliterated, disintegrated them outright. The more Alistair saw of the scene of carnage, the more he became convinced that this rescue mission would find no survivors here. And that meant only one thing... Divine Justinia V was dead.

"Damn it... if I hadn't seen with my own eyes Hawke stabbing Anders to death, I would know whom to suspect..." Varric said, the dwarf walking next to Alistair, Solas following them a little behind, mixture of surprise and disgust on the elf's face. "Or perhaps it was a suicide mission. I can't imagine anyone caught within half a mile of this place escaping alive."

"We cannot know that for certain, not until we know what exactly happened here," Solas pointed out grimly. "And no, don't ask me to speculate... this is... too much power than anyone should have..."

"Is it even worth to look around for evidence?" Alistair wondered, though he did not slow his step, jumping across a collapsed section of yet another wall. Falling back towards the forward camp was becoming all the more tempting, especially given how the Breach, as Solas had so aptly named it, was expanding little by little in the sky, spewing out demons with increasing frequency, and the amount of these rifts in the torn Veil appeared to be particularly high closer to the mountaintop and the temple ruins.

"Don't look at me," Varric shrugged. "If this has been done by magic, then I wouldn't even recognize whatever might have caused it. I thought that was why we brought Chuckles, here, with us as an expert," he pointed back at the frowning Solas.

"I would appreciate it if we could look around some more," Solas nodded eventually. "Some magical artifacts are capable of withstanding tremendous destructive forces. Perhaps something has been left behind by whoever is responsible for this."

After carefully navigating around more rubble and beating back yet another host of demons, the party of thirteen arrived at what seemed like a large crater at the very center of the temple, likely the epicenter of the explosion that had obliterated the ancient structure. Ignoring Alistair's warning to stay close, Solas immediately jumped down and began to search the bottom of the crater, the Gray Warden feeling deeply disturbed by the atmosphere in this place, especially concerned by what he saw when he turned his eyes skyward. Tendrils of swirling green energy stretched from the growing mouth of the Breach directly to the very mountaintop, weaving together into something that was difficult to describe, some kind of ever changing object of vaguely crystal-like shape, floating up in the air some twenty yards above them.

"I don't know what that is, all I know is that I want to be as far as possible from it," Varric frowned, eyeing the strange object with undisguised suspicion, Alistair in complete agreement with the dwarf's sentiment.

"Ser Alistair?" one of the surviving templars that he had added to his group, a woman by the name of Lysette, addressed him respectfully. "The men are becoming restless... perhaps we should turn back?"

Alistair understood the woman's concern, the troop morale already low due to already having suffered loss on this journey to the mountaintop, and it hadn't even come from the claws of the demons. The explosion had caused several heavy land and snow slides, and the mountain still appeared generally unstable. One of the templars had fallen a little behind the group and had wandered off the beaten path in order to catch up, walking across wobbly ground and becoming swept away by a rockslide that fortunately had not caught anyone else in it. Still, at the same time, Alistair wanted to give Solas a bit more time in order to make sure that the elven mage did not miss some kind of an important clue.

"There's nothing here!" Solas shouted from the bottom of the shallow crater, then beginning to carefully scale the rocky walls, Alistair and one of the templars reaching out to grab the elf's hands and pull him up and out of the crater. "I am sorry, but it was a waste of time," the elf admitted reluctantly, Alistair just barely holding himself back from releasing a juicy curse.

"Alright, people, we're going to fall back to the forward camp!" the Warden announced loudly. "But we'll do it in an orderly fashion! Don't just rush ahead like a pack of frenzied nugs!" he shouted, seeing that some of the more affected men and women were in a particular hurry to get away from being surrounded by these frightening, disturbing sights of total annihilation.

"Wait a moment," Varric said suddenly, turning around and pointing at something directly under the strangely glowing green crystal-like formation, something beginning to take shape there, like the very fabric of reality was starting to crack and form some kind of a dark, swirling gateway. The sight was clearly too much for some of the people under Alistair's command, fleeing the scene with panicked shouts, only the more trained and composed templars remaining with them, Lysette together with three younger holy warriors who appeared to look up to her as their leader.

"What **is** that?" Alistair asked nobody in particular, readying his sword. "Get ready for more demons!"

"Not necessarily," Solas replied with disturbing calmness, peering into the shimmering portal. "I believe that this is a gateway into the Fade, but... it does not come from the Breach."

"Doesn't mean it's not going to spit out demons, Chuckles!" Varric exclaimed, quickly reloading Bianca.

"Has anything not hostile ever walked out of the Fade?" Alistair wondered, staring intently at the dark portal, now able to see a somewhat human-shaped figure appearing in the swirling mist.

"Of course, so please do not be hasty," Solas warned, surprisingly firmly, as they all watched the dark figure slowly stumbling towards the exit from the portal. Bright light suddenly appeared behind the human-shaped figure in the Fade portal, as if pushing it forward, helping it to pass through the gateway with its last ounces of strength.

"Well, shit," Varric aptly remarked as they all watched a man tumbling out of the Fade portal and immediately collapsing on the ground unconscious. Green magical flame surrounded his hand, flickering around it like a tight glove, the magical energy very similar to the green glow that made up the slowly expanding Breach in the sky. The gateway closed shortly after it had spat out the unconscious man, but not before they had all looked up to see a vaguely female-like figure standing there, glowing with blindingly white light.

"Well, shit… that sounds about right," Alistair cursed quietly, turning to face his comrades. "Anyone care to explain what just happened?"

Silence was his only answer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Village of Haven_

"This is not a good sign," a young Chantry sister spoke, placing her hand on the clammy brow of the lone survivor from the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. "He is not responsive… do you see how dilated the pupils are?" she asked, pulling up the patients eyelids and urging Cassandra and Bethany to take a look for themselves. "Breathing is shallow as well. His heart is racing, the pulse is overly fast... unless we can get his heart to work normally, it will kill him soon."

"I won't allow that to happen... not until I have my answers," Cassandra ground her teeth, giving the survivor an accusing glare. Alistair and his group had carried the man down to the forward camp where they had constructed a makeshift stretcher before bringing the man down to Haven where he could be treated.

"What do you need in order to save this man, Sister?" Bethany asked, appearing less eager to extort answers from the barely living survivor.

"I am not sure, ma'am... I am not much of a healer, you probably have more skill at saving lives than I do," the young Chantry sister replied a little helplessly. "I think that the common elfroot could be used to reduce heart rate... I need to look at my notes one more time..."

"Of course," Bethany snapped her fingers, looking at the local apothecary, an older man by the name of Adan, standing respectfully by the door and waiting if anything will be required of him. "Do you have the ingredients to make some elfroot extract for us, Master Adan?"

"I have some on hand back at my place, my Lady," Adan replied. "As well as fresh ingredients to make more. Would you like me to bring a bottle?"

"Yes, please do so," Bethany smiled at the elderly apothecary as he turned to leave.

"I'm not sure that it will be enough to save this man," another voice spoke up quietly, the elven mage standing discreetly at the corner of the room, as if thinking his presence was unwelcome and wanting to be as far from everyone else as possible.

"What do you mean?" Cassandra demanded harshly, turning around to glare at the elf.

"The magic on his hand. I can feel it thrumming from over here," Solas replied, refusing to look at Cassandra, but instead facing Bethany. "Can't you?"

"I only sense that something is... not right with it," Bethany replied uncertainly. "I have not seen or felt anything like this before. Do you know where it comes from?"

"I do not," Solas shook his head. "But I think that it is killing him. Would you allow me to try something to see if I can help him?"

"If your actions in any way lead to this man's death, you will answer for it," Cassandra warned.

"I am willing to take that risk," Solas shrugged.

"I think we should allow him to try," Bethany voiced her opinion. "It's not as if anyone else here really knows what to do. And the magic on his hand... there is something strange about it, I can sense as much."

"Understood," Cassandra nodded reluctantly, beckoning Solas to step forward. The elf immediately answered the invitation and stood next to the bed with the unconscious patient. The elven apostate focused for a while and then shielding white energy burst from his hands and began to envelop the survivor, concentrating in particular on his hand, marked by the sickly green glow of magic.

"What are you doing?" the surprised Chantry sister asked in a perplexed voice.

"Is he making it worse?" Cassandra immediately demanded.

"No! No, quite the opposite... I can feel the heart rate dropping... breathing becoming normal again. This is helping him!" the healer exclaimed happily.

After a while, Solas stopped channeling his spell and stepped away from the bed. "My apologies, but I cannot maintain the cast any longer," he explained. "Still, this should help for a few more hours at least."

"What did you do, Solas?" Cassandra asked.

"I believe he suppressed... blocked the magic on the man's hand," Bethany cut in to explain, earning a nod from Solas. "It seems that this strange magic is indeed the reason why this man lies unconscious."

"Suppressing the magic... could this also be done by the templars?" the Seeker wondered.

"I believe they would be much better at it than the paltry efforts of any mage," Solas agreed. "And they would not need to expend as much effort as it took me."

"I will ask Lysette and the other templars to set up a rotation," Cassandra spoke, then frowning a little. "Provided they have not sided with those few villagers who demand to see this man hanged. I will not allow that to happen... not until he tells us what happened at the temple." She paused for a moment, turning towards Bethany. "Do we at least know the man's name? Do you remember him passing through the village?"

"I seem to vaguely recall him. I believe he spent an uncomfortable amount of time staring at me," Bethany replied, rolling her eyes as she did so. "I believe he was a part of one of the delegations from Ostwick. And no, I don't think he was with either mages or the templars. It is hard to imagine why someone like him would have any reason to do... something as horrible as what happened at the temple."

"He could have been acting on someone else's behalf," Cassandra pointed out logically. "But that is all idle speculation at this point, and it is getting us nowhere. I shall go and speak with the templars now."

"I will remain here and keep an eye on things," Bethany replied quickly to reassure her friend.

"The Seeker is truly a formidable woman, is she not?" Solas asked with a rare smile once Cassandra had vacated the premises, everyone in the room seemingly relaxing a little with the Nevarran woman's departure.

"She is formidable, and more than that," Bethany returned the elf's smile. "And she has the best interests of us all close to her heart, despite her taciturn manner."

"Yes, I am sure that she does," Solas nodded before turning to look at the now slightly less thrashing patient on the bed. "I observed your affinity for magic during the demon attack on Haven. You are quite talented, yourself... and you appear to have quite the sharp mind to go with your natural talent."

"You are too kind, Master Solas," Bethany promptly summoned a demure blush to hit her cheeks.

"I did not intend to flatter, I simply meant that you are the kind of person worth asking for their opinion," the elf smirked. "For example... the magic that this man suffers from. What do you think of it?"

"I could not help but notice the similarities between it and the Breach in the sky," Bethany answered. "I have been wondering... what if this mark on his hand has been created by the same magic that ripped open the sky?"

"Ah yes, my suspicions have been confirmed, you are indeed worthy of intelligent conversation," Solas smiled at her again. "What you said mirrors what I have been thinking myself. Great minds think alike, is that what they say?"

"Something like that," Bethany winked at the man, but the lack of reaction on his part confirmed what the newly minted Left Hand of the Divine had already suspected. This elf would not be swayed by her charms... but perhaps he could be won over by her intelligence.

"The templars are coming," Solas said, looking outside the window, Lysette together with one of her fellows approaching the impromptu infirmary. "I would prefer to be out of their sight, despite your reassurances. Shall we continue this conversation at a later time?"

"Of course, I would love to, Master Solas," Bethany smiled at the elf before following him out of the infirmary. "Right now, though, I should really get at least a few hours of sleep. We've all had a rough and sleepless night." Solas merely nodded at her as Bethany began the slow trek back to her quarters at the chantry.

_He knows more than he is telling us, far more, _the new Left Hand of the Divine thought to herself as she walked. _I wonder if he actually knows what happened at the temple... part of me thinks that he might, but I cannot be sure. The connection between the Breach and the mark on the survivor's hand, knowing how to neutralize that magic... it is very curious that he would simply be able to guess these things, but then again, I made that connection myself, so it is not improbable. One thing is clear, Lady Bethany Hawke, _she told herself, entering her quarters and plopping down heavily on the bed without bothering to undress herself, feeling way too exhausted for that. _Getting Solas to reveal his secrets will be a major undertaking... that much I am certain of..._

* * *

><p>Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast was one step away from the doors of the war room, when an insistent and irritating male voice stopped her. "Seeker, I must speak with you immediately!" spoke a man in the robes of a Chantry cleric, approaching her with a deep frown on his perpetually disapproving face.<p>

"Chancellor Roderick," Cassandra ground out, swallowing some of the more colorful epithets that she felt tempted to use when addressing the fastidious bureaucrat. "Can't this wait? I was in the middle of something..."

"No, it can't wait, Seeker," Roderick snapped, doing his best to appear properly outraged. "I must inquire about the condition of our prisoner. When will he be ready for transportation to Val Royeaux?"

"I beg your pardon?" Cassandra actually blinked in surprise.

"This... survivor, you found in the temple," the Chancellor explained. "Surely he must be our main suspect! Who else but him could have been at the heart of this dark conspiracy?"

"I admit that it is not impossible," the Nevarran woman sighed reluctantly. "But we cannot explain how he could have caused this explosion and yet managed to survive it. Can you explain it, Chancellor Roderick?"

"Listen to yourself, woman! The Divine is dead, along with all the Grand Clerics, and you are wondering about the 'hows' and 'whys' instead of doing your sworn duty to bring the guilty party to justice!" Roderick fumed, his face red with righteous anger.

"And you think that a sacrificial scapegoat will make it all better? That it will fix the hole in the sky?" Cassandra retorted, also raising her voice.

"That man is responsible for it, and for the fate of the Divine!" the Chancellor argued passionately. "The prisoner must be taken to Val Royeaux and thrown into the dungeons there until a new Divine is selected to administer justice for their heinous crimes!"

"And how much time will it take to select this new Divine? Months? Years?" Cassandra challenged. "There is nothing to gain by moving the prisoner to Val Royeaux, not now, not until we have learned everything he has to say. If the man ever regains his ability to speak, that is."

"By what authority are you making this decision, Seeker?" Roderick sputtered with righteous indignation.

"By my authority as the Right Hand of the Divine," Cassandra shrugged. "You seek to challenge it? I wish you the best of luck in finding anyone who will follow your orders over mine."

"I don't know what game you are playing, Seeker... but it is a dangerous one," Roderick warned. "Remember that I am a dangerous man to cross, Lady Pentaghast."

Cassandra actually burst into laughter at that, further enraging Roderick. "My Lord Chancellor, I must thank you for lightening the mood with your most amusing delusions," she then added with a fierce glare that seemed to cool down and deflate Roderick. "As for what game I am playing... I promise that you will know all about it before the day is through." Roderick opened his mouth to continue arguing, but Cassandra had had enough, turning away from the man, entering the war room and slapping the door shut in the Chancellor's face.

"That was some impressive shouting right there," Alistair looked up at her, hunched over the war table and studying the map of the region of the Frostback Mountains surrounding Haven.

"I apologize if I interrupted your work," Cassandra bowed her head lightly. "In fact, I came here because I wanted to speak with you, Warden Alistair, but Chancellor Roderick intercepted me at the most inopportune moment."

"Well, I'm all ears, Seeker," Alistair looked up at the formidable woman in front of him.

"I will speak plainly... as you might have noticed already, diplomacy is not my strong suit," Cassandra said, ignoring the light smirk on the Warden's lips. "The explosion at the temple has inflicted a death toll that is... difficult to comprehend. I don't think it has truly sunk in yet. Your Order lost many good men and women as well... this must weigh heavily on your mind."

"It does, yes... and yet..." Alistair frowned, then letting out a pent up sigh. "I will be honest with you, Lady Cassandra. Something tells me that I can afford to be." The Seeker gave him an appreciative nod, urging the Warden to continue. "I initially came to Haven because I simply did not understand why so many members of the Order had been sent here, on an errand that had very little to do with Grey Warden matters. Let's just say that I was slightly... confused about the Gray Warden purpose here."

"The Divine asked the leaders of your order to provide forces neutral in this conflict between mages and the templars to ensure her protection, and Warden-Commander Clarel obliged," Cassandra explained. "To be perfectly honest, this request seemed odd to me as well, but the Divine has... had always viewed Grey Wardens as a force of righteousness. So perhaps there is nothing odd about the presence of your fellows here."

"Perhaps... it does make some sense," Alistair seemed to agree, but not entirely, though he did not say more on the issue. "I will have to report to the Warden-Commander about this, of course. She will be devastated about the loss of lives, not just those of the Wardens."

"Alistair, do you think that the Grey Wardens will want to investigate this matter?" Cassandra asked plainly. "I realize that it is not related to the darkspawn and the Blight, but so many of your Order have been killed. Surely you should be interested in discovering the truth behind these events?"

"I would most certainly be interested in investigating, but I cannot do anything without the authorization by the Warden-Commander," Alistair replied. "That said... I do not have to return to Val Royeaux immediately. Sending a runner is also an alternative."

"Or a raven. We have some at our disposal, though they seem to take greater delight in pecking Varric than delivering our messages," Cassandra smirked. "To be perfectly honest, Alistair... we badly need someone like you here, at least in the short term until your Warden-Commander decides to recall you. The Divine left contingency plans in case of her death... have you heard about the Inquisition of old?"

"I read every possible legend during my all too short templar training, yes," Alistair nodded. "They were harsh warriors, oftentimes brutal, but the tumultuous times called for such measures. Why are you mentioning this Inquisition of old?"

"Because it was the Divine's will to see the Inquisition restored to bring order to this world of chaos, should the Conclave fail," Cassandra explained to the surprised Warden. "The Conclave has failed, and once the words of these events reach Val Royeaux and spread to every corner of Thedas... chaos will break out everywhere, I'm sure you realize this. I think that the Divine was absolutely correct in predicting the necessity for the Inquisition, which is why she has tasked me and Bethany to restore the Inquisition of old."

"Oh?" Alistair's eyes widened in surprise at those words. "Clearly, Lady Bethany is no mere lay sister, is she? In fact… she reminds me of someone I once knew…"

"One of Justinia's last decrees was to name Bethany the Left Hand of the Divine," Cassandra explained. "She is my equal, and together we have this mountain of a task before us. As you already saw, neither of us is prepared to lead armies, however. But... well, you are."

"What are you saying?" Alistair blinked. "You want me to... join this Inquisition of yours?"

"I want you to seriously think about it," Cassandra nodded grimly. "Of course, you can claim that this is no Grey Warden matter, but the chaos that is coming will affect the Grey Wardens as well. It already has, many of your fellows lay dead amidst the ruins of the temple!"

"You are... not wrong about that, Seeker," Alistair admitted after a brief moment of thought. "Still... regardless of how sympathetic I might be to your cause, I will need to consider my decision carefully. And I will need to speak with Master Varric about sending a raven to Val Royeaux and hope that the Warden-Commander will respond."

"Why would she not respond?" Cassandra asked quickly.

"Well... that was the strangest thing... and another reason why I came to Haven to investigate," Alistair admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a little confused. "There was nobody present at the Warden headquarters in the capital when I returned from my previous assignment. It was... as if the place had been deserted. I'm sure it's nothing, but... I simply found that quite odd."

"Hmm," Cassandra frowned, but declined from saying anything else, not knowing what to make of this revelation. "Should I leave you to contemplate your decision, Warden?"

"Alistair will do just fine, especially if we end up working side by side," the man gave her an honest, friendly smile.

"Only if you call me Cassandra and forget all about the Seeker," the Nevarran returned the smile before taking Alistair's hand in a firm handshake. "Find me once you have reached your decision, Alistair," she added, then turning around and walking out of the war room.

* * *

><p>Bethany was rolling around her bed restlessly, having been awake for a good quarter of an hour already, but still not quite feeling like getting up, even if her conscience was slowly beginning to eat away at her. It did not take long for her to start feeling guilty for sleeping in when everyone else were up and about, trying to help out in any way they could around the village. As Bethany slowly got out of the bed, she began to sense someone milling around uncertainly just outside the doors to her room, as if trying to build up the courage to knock. The Left Hand of the Divine walked up to the doors and then opened them in the exact right moment when Ambassador Montilyet had finally gathered her resolve and turned to knock, now almost tumbling over the doorstep, Bethany catching her arm and helping Josephine steady herself.<p>

"Whoa, careful there," Bethany chuckled, welcoming the blushing ambassador into her room and closing the doors behind them. "I think you should know that I was awake for a while, so next time don't hesitate to knock. Even if I'm asleep, I will not mind you interrupting my rest."

"I... shall remember that for future reference," Josephine, still a little flushed, managed to recover quickly. "But Bethany, while you slept, certain rumors have started to circulate... and they are making my head spin. It doesn't help that I am still struggling to accept that the Divine might be dead..."

"I'm afraid so..." Bethany sighed. "I... came to really look up to her. She was just so... different from Grand Cleric Elthina back in Kirkwall. Divine Justinia recognized injustice when she saw it, and she tried to work to right these wrongs. I will miss her..."

"She obviously thought a great deal of you, Bethany," Josie smiled sadly. "I have had to learn that you are not only a mage, but also the new Left Hand of the Divine. Talk about a discovery..."

"Uh... yes," now it was Bethany's turn to blush. "I knew that Justinia planned for it sooner or later, but I had no idea that she had already prepared her writ in the case of her death. Cassandra let me know just a little while ago. I was going to tell you, honestly."

"Well... you didn't have to, actually," Josephine pointed out. "Nor were you obliged to reveal to me that you are a mage."

"I wanted to, though," Bethany smiled demurely. "I want us to become the kind of friends that... well, who don't want to keep secrets from each other. So... there's actually one more thing that you should know..."

"If you mean about rebuilding the Inquisition, then I already overheard that as well," Josephine confessed. "Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. I've been thinking on how the Inquisition might actually function, what kind of help you and Cassandra might require to make it work..."

"It's... a bit too overwhelming to think about all the details, but... it's very comforting to hear that you want to help, Josie," Bethany smiled at her friend.

"Of course I want to help," Josephine nodded resolutely. "With this one single act of destruction, the face of Thedas has been changed forever. Everything else now feels... small and mundane next to the task before you and Cassandra. It is clear to me that if the Inquisition wants to succeed, it will need connections to the organizations of power and the nobility and the royal courts all over Thedas. Now, I know that you and Master Tethras have some kind of a... network to gather information discreetly... but you will also need official channels to work with."

"Yes... that sounds like something we definitely will need... and something that neither I nor Cassandra are well equipped to deal with," Bethany sighed, shaking her head. "What is your advice, Josie? How do we build these connections?"

"By employing someone who already has these connections," Josephine smiled at her, seemingly taking great delight in Bethany's confusion. "Someone charming, witty, well-mannered and patient... well, someone like me, for example..."

"You... want to join the Inquisition?" Bethany gasped.

"I simply feel as if this would be the right thing to do under the current circumstances," Josephine replied earnestly. "And on a personal level, it would be the kind of challenge that I am looking forward to truly test my mettle as a diplomat. My work as the Antivan ambassador has felt a little stale as of late, and I have been thinking about a career change before all this happened... so yes, I would very much like to be a part of the Inquisition. I could be your ambassador!"

"Do you truly mean it?" Bethany asked, wanting to be completely certain. "I mean, when you put it like that, your reasons make sense, but... I would hate you to regret your decision later..."

"Bethany... I am smart enough to realize what the Divine's death means for Thedas," Josephine said softly, placing a comforting hand upon Bethany's. "I'm not sure I can simply... go back to my old post in Val Royeaux as if nothing had happened. Of course... working alongside you is also a pleasant prospect to look forward to..." she added, both women exchanging coy smiles before turning away.

"As long as you're sure," Bethany managed, her voice a little hoarse with the emotion. "Cassandra and I could really benefit from your skills..."

"Then it is settled and I am staying," Josephine said decisively. "Together we will make this Inquisition work…"

* * *

><p><em>Deep Roads, Northern Orlais<em>

"I have never seen our Lord Corypheus quite this angry," an elderly Venatori magister remarked, looking on as two of their lowly recruits were busy cleaning up the scene of grizzly murder, Corypheus having blasted several of his loyal subjects to death simply for daring to ask about the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the ancient magister clearly not taking this setback in his plans well at all.

"I think that given the circumstances, the reaction was understandable and only to be expected, Magister Alexius," Calpernia returned thoughtfully, glancing at the fellow Tevinter mage, Alexius one of the few magisters in the upper echelons of the Venatori who did not show open disdain at her meteoric rise through their ranks. "While waste of their lives was pointless, they were fools to choose this particular moment to indulge their curiosity. As we can clearly see, this time it killed more than a cat."

"Well said," Alexius smirked, giving his younger colleague a scrutinizing stare. "You must be relieved that our Master did not insist on you accompanying him to the very mountaintop." Calpernia nodded at that, allowing Alexius to continue. "Does that mean you also do not know what exactly happened at the temple?"

"Lord Corypheus was not in a sharing mood when he returned following the explosion," Calpernia scowled. "The orb worked, we can see the proof of it every time we look up into the sky. It ripped the Veil open and provided entrance into the Fade, as it was supposed to do. But for some reason, our Master was unable to enter the Fade, and he is not willing to share why. Clearly, something must have gone wrong."

"If the orb had malfunctioned, he would have surely blamed you," Alexius rightly pointed out. "And that means that we would not be having this discussion right now."

"True enough," Calpernia admitted. "Something must have prevented Lord Corypheus from entering the Fade, but I do not expect that he will simply give up because of this setback. Remember, the Divine is dead, together with a great many mages and templars, severely crippling the ability of the Southerners to fight back. In a way, this was a victory in defeat."

"I suppose you are right," Alexius began, but at that very moment the doors to the inner chambers of the ancient darkspawn magister sprang open, Corypheus storming out and pointing at them both with a grand, imperious gesture.

"Both of you, follow me!" the irritated magister snarled, turning around and returning to his chambers, Alexius and Calpernia getting up from the table and following, a little fearfully. "And stop cowering like frightened slaves! You are not to blame for what happened at the temple... if you were to blame, you would no longer be breathing by now."

"You are most fair and generous, Master," Alexius bowed deeply.

"How can we further serve you, Lord Corypheus?" Calpernia addressed her master with the proper obedience of a former slave.

"It is true that I have suffered a temporary setback in my plans to conquer the Black City and claim the power of the gods for my own, but it is only a matter of time until I discover other means to enter the Fade," Corypheus stated. "Meanwhile, our plans to crush the pathetic nations of Thedas must continue, and the events at the temple serve our purpose well. Through the fake Lord Seeker Lucius, I directed a large part of the templar order away from Haven and towards the fortress at..." Corypheus peered at the large map on the table in front of him, still not quite familiar with the current geography of Thedas. "Therinfal Redoubt, yes. There, their corruption with red lyrium will be completed, and we will receive dozens and dozens of powerful, nigh indestructible juggernauts of battle to bolster our ranks."

"A most brilliant move, master," Alexius commented. "Did you expect the ritual at the temple to be so... catastrophic?"

"Ripping apart the Veil is rarely a gentle event, you should know as much as a mage, Alexius," the ancient magister scowled. "Yes, I wanted a large part of the templars away from the temple, but not as many as to cause suspicion. Unfortunately... someone alerted the rebel mages that the templars were planning to hold some of their forces back. The rebel mages decided to do the same. Instead of heading for Haven, a large part of their forces relocated to the village of..." Corypheus glanced at the map again. "Redcliffe."

"Very unfortunate," Alexius frowned. "They should either be destroyed or recruited to our cause."

"You are half-right, Alexius," Corypheus slammed his fist against the surface of the table in an exaggerated gesture. "They are of no use to me dead, thus it will be your task to travel to this village of Redcliffe and do what you can to win over these rebel mages. Take as many Venatori with you as is required, but know that I would approve of the use of subtlety instead of a direct confrontation. Calpernia will travel with you, both to advise and to evaluate your performance."

"Her advice will be greatly appreciated," Alexius managed through gritted teeth. While he did not mind Calpernia, having come to on some level respect the crafty and sharp-minded woman, he most definitely did not want this opportunistic climber of ranks assigned to him as his personal keeper. But if it took this kind of sacrifice to prove his utmost loyalty to Lord Corypheus, then Alexius would tolerate it.

"Do not worry, Magister Alexius, I will not attempt anything to try and usurp your leadership," Calpernia spoke, and Alexius could almost believe that there was honesty in her voice… almost. "This is your task, and I will do my best to see that you succeed at it, simply because defeat would be disastrous for us all."

"Well said, Calpernia," Corypheus nodded to his favorite pet, then making a dismissive gesture with his gnarled, bony hand. "Now leave me... go and see to your appointed tasks!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Aeonar, Northern Ferelden _

"Did it work?" Ser Cauthrien asked, looking at Queen Maythre, the elven blood mage resting on her bed, looking even paler than usual.

"I have no way of knowing, Cauthrien," Maythre replied, looking at the two items resting on her palm, an enchanted ring of rubies, as well as an elaborate silver necklace with blood red jewels. "To be absolutely certain, I would have to die. I am sure you can imagine that I am not keen on performing such an experiment."

"No, please do not," Cauthrien actually shuddered a little at that suggestion, not that it was a serious one. "As long as one of the items work as intended..." she glanced down at the priceless artifacts in Maythre's hand, created by the Formari at the former Circle of Kinloch Hold, where the tranquil slaves worked day and night to increase the wealth of the elven queen. The items had been made in accordance with the information that the agents dispatched by the queen had recovered, and afterwards, Maythre had taken her precious baubles to Aeonar to imbue them through different magical rituals to give them the power to hopefully bring her back from the dead in case some accident befell the Queen of Ferelden.

"Which one do you think is more likely to work, my Queen?" the general dared to ask when the elven blood mage continued to absentmindedly admire the enchanted artifacts.

"The ring is certainly the more promising," Maythre replied without hesitation. "The necklace... I am of the mind to throw it away, really," she added, but then seemed to reconsider, considering how much effort had been put in to create either of the artifacts.

Rings such as the one on her palm had been once made by the ancient elves of Arlathan and the knowledge of their creation stolen by the Tevinter magisters sometime during their assault on the Elvhenan. The basic premise was to select a new host body, place it into a complicated permanent stasis spell, and then imbue the ring with enough power for it to serve as a foci between her essence and the prepared host body, into which her essence would escape if she were to be slain. It upset Maythre a little that she would lose her magnificent beauty, but amongst her agents she had managed to discover a young elven girl who bore a slight resemblance to her. The girl had been placed into stasis, her body prepared to accept the queen's life essence in the case of her death, though of course there were no guarantees that this ritual would actually work.

One thing that worried Maythre a little was that although the ritual was fairly complex and required the blood sacrifices of many, it was nothing that was beyond the reach of most Tevinter magisters, and yet, she had never heard of them actually possessing such rings, indeed, there were no recounts of the ritual being successful. _Perhaps they are using it continuously and simply try to keep it a secret, _the blood mage queen thought to herself. _Perhaps they don't spread the news of this method because it actually __**is**__ effective and allows them to continuously cheat death. Yes, that could be it... I hope. _

Of course, she had the sacrifices for this blood magic ritual already prepared. The agents that she had dispatched to every corner of Thedas in search of elven lore that Flemeth might have used for her own resurrection, were all clever individuals, most of them skilled apostates. It was almost a certainty that some of them would figure out the true motives behind the queen's interest in this knowledge, and so they all needed to be silenced for Maythre's secret to be preserved. The deaths of almost two dozen skilled agents in her employ felt a little wasteful and disappointing, but she had already once sacrificed the very man she loved in order to attain immortality, so this sacrifice took even less hesitation on her part. At her order, the bloodletting chambers of the ancient Tevinter laboratory of Aeonar were put back to use, the thick blood of her slaughtered victims running down the carved grooves in the floor to collect in a massive cauldron at the middle of the laboratory. As always, blood mixed with lyrium acted as a sort of medium, allowing Maythre to add a drop of her own blood to finalize the foci of the ring and create a permanent link between her essence and the host body. The magical theory behind the ritual seemed solid to the elven queen, filling her with a reasonable amount of confidence, even as she hoped that this fallback plan would never need to be tested.

The necklace, on the other hand, was something of a long shot at best. Maythre found it dubious that it did not focus on some sort of a host body, but instead targeted an altar of one of the ancient elven gods, Mythal, as if it was supposed to recreate her body from the faith itself. Ridiculous as it seemed, Maythre had decided to proceed with this ritual as well, ordering a small shrine of Mythal to be built in one of the upper floor chambers in the tower of Aeonar. She then proceeded with the focusing ritual itself, blood and lyrium again used in equal parts to link her essence to the shrine, but Maythre was unpleasantly surprised to learn that all the blood used in this ritual needed to be hers. This was the reason why she was currently bedridden for the fifth straight day following the completion of the ritual, trying to regain her strength following a major loss of blood.

Even more frustratingly, during the time she was chained to her bed at Aeonar, Maythre had managed to decipher a few more lines from the ancient elven text describing the ritual, and what she had learned made her want to smash the necklace to small pieces and then blast the shrine of Mythal with all the destructive magic in her arsenal. Apparently, this ritual would only work if one were actually _**related**_ to Mythal. _And what are the chances of me being related to Mythal? _Maythre had laughed bitterly upon making this discovery. _Not like Mythal is even real. Like all deities, she is simply an invention of those weak-willed and addled-minded, those who require the existence of some kind of higher authority and hope of a greater purpose in order to make it through their miserable lives. _

"In any case, Cauthrien, I believe you have brought me some news," the queen said suddenly, putting the enchanted artifacts away to safety and turning back to her sole confidante. "Just what has been happening out there while I have lingered away on this bed?" she inquired, referring to the events that had taken place a few days back, the sky suddenly turning into the sickly color of swirling green, massive hole appearing in the sky and demons starting to burst through the broken Veil. There were reports of strange rifts in the Veil forming everywhere in the countryside, rifts that even the most skilled of mages in her employ failed to close through all the traditional means, implying that some sort of extraordinary power was at work here.

"It was just as you said, my Queen," Cauthrien replied, looking impressed. "The strange hole in the sky has opened over the Frostback Mountains, or more precisely, over the Temple of Sacred Ashes near Haven. There was an explosion that seems to have killed everyone at the temple, the Divine included. Though how you knew this I will never know."

"It is not important, my dear Cauthrien," Maythre smiled at her trusted general, reaching out with her arm towards the other woman who took it eagerly, helping the queen rise from the bed on unsteady legs. "I would like to leave this place tomorrow, I feel that my presence is needed back in Denerim. To do that, I need to recover my strength more rapidly... I believe that a short walk would be beneficial, if you would assist me," she added, placing her arm around her general's and casual lover's neck, Cauthrien wrapping her hand firmly around Maythre's waist to steady her.

"You know that I am always delighted to help you in any capacity, my Queen," Cauthrien replied in a low voice, as always when so intimately close to her beloved queen.

_So, this is why Flemeth warned me to stay away from Haven. She didn't want me to be caught in that explosion, didn't want me to die. Oh, not for sentimental reasons, of course, but only because she wants to steal my body at some point, _Maythre thought to herself as together with Cauthrien they strolled through the halls of the ancient Tevinter laboratory, a tall spire that hid a massive complex underneath it, carved into the very mountain itself. During the ages when Chantry had been one of the major powers in Ferelden, it had served as a prison for especially sensitive prisoners of the Andrastian faith. Heretical brothers or sisters of the faithful, templars gone insane from lyrium, and many others, they all found their last home here, away from the eyes of the public. Aeonar was a place that only few knew about, considered almost a tale of fiction amongst the common folk, and the Chantry preferred to keep it that way.

After Maythre had kicked the Chantry out of Ferelden, Aeonar had been one of the first places she had come to visit. The Maker's faithful had destroyed the majority of the evidence of their misdeeds here, but plenty of incriminating documents had been left behind, much to Maythre's delight. The lower levels still stored leather bound tomes collected by the Tevinter magisters who had conducted their experiments here, and Maythre discovered many interesting secrets amongst those yellowed parchments, spending many months here to study. A large force of competent builders had been dispatched to Aeonar in order to fix up the place that had not seen any repair work since its construction, also renovating comforting and splendorous quarters for the queen to live in during her stay at the ancient laboratory. Aeonar was also perfectly designed for the kind of blood magic research that Maythre was most interested in, a particularly efficient slaughterhouse with some of the finest bloodletting instruments that the queen had ever seen. Deep down, Maythre felt a great satisfaction in turning this bastion of the Chantry into something that the Maker's faithful would consider heretical above everything.

"We need to learn more about what happened at the temple," Maythre said as the two of them continued to walk around the ancient laboratory. "You said that everyone at the temple have died, which means that this ridiculous Conclave has failed. But what about the village, are there any survivors in Haven?"

"There are survivors, but only a handful of people, none of them particularly important," Cauthrien replied. "All those involved in the peace talks were up at the temple. I think the survivors in Haven can be safely ignored. However..." she hesitated a little, forcing the queen to look up at her. "Well, it seems that the mages sensed foul play before the Conclave had begun," the general continued quickly. "They pulled out some of their representatives at the last moment."

"Fiona, no doubt," Maythre stated, earning a quick nod from Cauthrien. "I should not underestimate the woman, she is experienced and cunning to have survived this long. Do we have any idea where she is now?"

"It seems as if she has taken the mages still loyal to her to Redcliffe," Cauthrien explained, wincing a little. "They are fortifying the village, expecting an attack. I doubt the locals are very sympathetic towards the mages or wish to help them, but it seems as if Fiona is not giving them the choice to decide. They are trying to cut all communication coming out from the village, but it was quite unrealistic of Fiona to expect that we would not learn that the rebels have holed up in Redcliffe."

"Perhaps she expects to hide behind the backs of the innocent villagers and hope that it would stop me from attacking her? If so, she does not know me very well, does she," Maythre laughed to herself, then noticing the slightly conflicted look in Cauthrien's eyes. "Ah yes, I did oppose your idea to establish a garrison at Redcliffe, did I not?" the queen asked, receiving a reluctant nod. "Well, I made a mistake, I admit that freely. You should not hesitate to point that out, Cauthrien." The general looked scandalized at the very idea that her beloved queen could ever be wrong, even if Maythre had clearly made an oversight in neglecting Redcliffe. Following the deaths of Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon, Maythre had officially inherited the lands surrounding Redcliffe through her marriage to Eamon, but she had not done anything with these lands, the castle itself lying in disrepair. Redcliffe and its surroundings simply did not interest her in any way, and now she was paying the price of her neglect when Fiona simply marched her mages into the village and the weak local militia probably did not dare to offer even a token resistance against over a hundred of mages.

"Do you want me to begin organizing our forces and march on Redcliffe?" Cauthrien asked, sounding hopeful.

Maythre thought for a while, trying to decide the right course of action. Even if she was dearly tempted to crush the rebel mages and punish Fiona for her initial refusal to come to Ferelden and accept her leadership, there were many aspects for her to consider. _I need to be careful in order not to make Flemeth angry at me, _Maythre thought quietly, enjoying the comfort of Cauthrien's firm grip on her waist. _She has always been supportive of the mages who try to rise against the Chantry, so I don't think she would approve of me killing all the rebels in a fit of rage. No… she would want me to bring them all under my banner. Maybe she won't mind if I just punish Fiona and leave all the others alive? Yes, that does sound acceptable... _

"Yes, do that, but do not engage the mages, Cauthrien," Maythre replied. "In fact, have our forces stay out of sight of the rebels, do not approach the village itself. I believe that I can get the rebel mages to surrender to us... which would be more preferable."

"Assuming they will even want to talk with us," Cauthrien scowled. "I do not expect Fiona to simply open the gates in order to invite you in, my Queen."

"Oh, she won't have to do that," Maythre laughed, feeling some of the fire and passion flowing back into her frame from the excitement brought about by her plan. "I know every nook and cranny at Castle Redcliffe, my dear Cauthrien, and all the secret passages leading into it." _I even used one of them myself to carry out Leliana's body from the castle, all those years ago. _"If Fiona won't talk to us... well, we'll just sneak in and have a heart-to-heart talk with her..." the queen added with a mirthful laugh, the elven blood mage delighting in the mental image, envisioning a strong, proud woman like Fiona, begging desperately for her life. All of a sudden, she could not wait to go to Redcliffe, feeling a surge of energy rushing through her veins.

* * *

><p><em>Village of Haven<em>

"I wonder who's putting them up to this," Grey Warden Alistair sighed, watching two templars leading away one of the villagers, the man hobbling having been punched in the gut. Over the past two days this was already the third villager who had tried to sneak into the infirmary and do in the survivor they had recovered at the ruins of the temple, the man's health appearing to be gradually on the upswing.

"Oh, I have a good idea of who's behind this," Cassandra spat angrily, watching the templars take their prisoner away to be thrown into the chantry dungeons, together with his two other conspirators. "A certain rat-faced Chancellor, I'm sure of it."

"Ah... this Roderick fellow stirring trouble," Alistair frowned. "Perhaps something should be done about him?"

"That would probably not be wise," the Seeker replied. "Moving against him and not letting him speak might convince some of the locals that we have something to hide."

"True enough," Alistair admitted reluctantly. "I wonder..." he cast a quick glance into the infirmary, Lysette standing protectively over the survivor, like a frozen guardian statue. "I mean... I hope that the Chancellor does not manage to influence the templars. They have shown admirable loyalty thus far, so I would not want to insult them by questioning their commitment to our cause."

"I don't think there is any reason to be concerned," Cassandra replied. "While Chancellor Roderick has done an excellent job at riling up the villagers, I have spoken with Lysette and she vouches for her men. They were with you at the mountaintop and they saw what happened, so they are convinced that the prisoner is not to blame for what happened. Oddly enough... for some reason they believe that Andraste herself guided the survivor out of the Fade?"

"Uh... we can't be sure about that," Alistair shrugged. "We saw someone in the Fade, behind the survivor as he tumbled out of the rift... a figure of blinding white, and it did look feminine, but to say that it was Andraste... even if it was her, does anyone truly know what exactly did Andraste look like? Every depiction we have of her seems to be different."

"A fair point," Cassandra agreed, a little reluctantly. It appeared as if she was somewhat disappointed when Alistair could not confirm what the templars believed to have seen.

"When do you think he's going to wake up?" Alistair nodded towards the infirmary again, the two of them standing in the snow just outside the building, the Breach looking particularly menacing in the night sky above them.

"They say within the next twenty-four hours," Cassandra replied. "The elfroot extract is helping, as are the templar abilities to suppress the magic affecting him. Already he appears to be responding to various stimulus and the healers say that the vitals are stable, too. He's still muttering a lot about something with 'too many eyes'... also, the templars say that he has mentioned 'the Grey' several times."

"That's not a big surprise, I mean, we know that the Grey Wardens were at the temple. He must have met some of them," Alistair offered his explanation, Cassandra nodding along in agreement. "And speaking of the Grey Wardens... I believe I have an answer to give to you, Cassandra."

"The ravens already brought back a reply?" Cassandra asked, intrigued.

"Varric sent three ravens with my missive, and he says that they all bounced," Alistair explained.

"The ravens... bounced?" the Seeker blinked.

"Yes, I was not sure why Varric used that word," Alistair shrugged. "When I asked him about it, he only said that all the windows to the Warden headquarters had been closed so when the ravens tried to fly in they just all bounced off." Cassandra frowned, not looking particularly convinced by that explanation. "In any case, no reply from the Wardens means only one thing. They are still absent from Val Royeaux and I don't know why or where they have gone. I am thinking... perhaps I can look into their disappearance as a member of the Inquisition."

"I am... very glad to hear it, Alistair," Cassandra smiled, looking relieved. "But you must understand that the disappearance of the Wardens will not be the priority of the Inquisition."

"I understand that, but... well..." Alistair stuttered a little, shuffling his feet uncomfortably in the snow. "I mean, I have no idea how their presence at the temple ties in to everything that has happened. There's... something odd happening with the Wardens and… let's just say that I am worried." It looked as if he was going to say more before falling silent, but Cassandra decided not to bother the Warden about it just yet.

"In that case, I accept your services as a part of the Inquisition," Cassandra spoke solemnly, taking the Warden's hand and shaking it. "Bethany has already expressed her approval, so... this makes it official. You are now one of the growing army tasked with restoring order to Thedas."

"It seems like a worthy cause," Alistair nodded, then noticing a small group of three people approaching them from the village gates leading further up to the mountain. "And speaking of Bethany..."

"Bethany! Good news!" Cassandra called out to address the woman walking at the front of the small group. "Alistair has agreed to join the Inquisition!"

"That's, uh, great," Bethany replied, her mind quite clearly on something else, Cassandra and Alistair both realizing that immediately. The youngest of the Hawke sisters together with Solas and Varric all looked as if they had been in a fairly rough battle recently.

"What happened, what did you discover?" Cassandra asked, eager to discover the reason for the disheveled appearance of their friends.

"It appears that we have more to worry than the Breach simply spitting out demons," Solas stepped forward to explain. "Further up the mountain, we encountered several Fade rifts, places where the Veil has been ripped open on a smaller scale compared to the hole in the sky. But it is enough for demons to be able to use these smaller rifts to constantly enter our world."

"Can these rifts be, I don't know, sealed?" Alistair inquired.

"Normally that should be the case," Bethany nodded. "I know that there was a fairly massive breach of the Fade back in Kirkwall, contributing to the chaos that resulted in the destruction of the chantry. But the Starkhaven and Cumberland mages were able to repair it. Curiously, whatever we tried with the rifts up the mountain... nothing affected them. It was as if they... repaired themselves."

"Wait, so... if we don't find a way to seal those rifts, the demons will eventually overrun us?" Alistair summarized aptly.

"That seems like a reasonable assumption, yes," Solas agreed. "Have you noticed how much the Breach has expanded in the sky over the past few days?" Everyone cast their eyes up above, wincing as they saw how the sickly green glow had spread almost across the entire sky. "As the Breach spreads, it becomes easier for the demons to enter the mortal realm, you can see it spitting out more and more of them. Also, the tears in the Veil are now starting to appear on the ground... we actually observed a Fade rift opening before our eyes as we were descending down the mountain."

"So what is the solution, to evacuate the village?" Cassandra asked, frustration and a little hint of despair seeping into her voice. "Do we know that it is safer elsewhere?"

"This close to the epicenter of the Breach, I am certain that the situation is particularly dire here," Solas replied grimly. "But even if we should evacuate, it would solve nothing in the long term. Unless we stop the Breach from growing, every place on Thedas will soon be teeming with demons."

"Just wonderful," Varric sighed. "Surface swarming ass-deep in demons, that might be the only thing ever to force me to run back to Orzammar."

"Please tell me that you have an idea on how to stop the Breach from growing!" Cassandra exclaimed, no longer bothering to hide her frustration.

"This appears to be beyond my realm of expertise," Bethany shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps Master Solas..."

"Yes, I do have some ideas which might merit consideration," the elven mage replied enigmatically. "We have established that traditional magic appears ineffective against the power that has ripped apart the Veil. But what about the strange magic that affects our friend here?" he asked, pointing towards the infirmary and the lone survivor.

"How would that help us?" Cassandra demanded. "Can you simply take that magic from him... and use it on the Breach?"

"No, I do not believe that would work," Solas shook his head. "When I suppressed the magic on his hand, I sensed that it could not be separated from him. The mark on his hand is permanent, I am certain of it."

"So what are you suggesting, Chuckles?" Varric asked. "Should I get a saw so that we can cut off his arm? Then we could wander the countryside with a severed arm, point it at the rifts and… magic would happen?"

"Nothing quite so crude, my dwarven friend," Solas smirked. "I would prefer for our survivor to be alive. Perhaps he can be taught to master the magic he has been blessed with."

"But he is not a mage," Bethany argued.

"Perhaps he does not have to be," the elven mage replied. "We will not know until he wakes up and we can test how the magic on his hand interacts with the Breach. If you are willing to try, that is."

"I'm all for it," Alistair spoke up. "It's not like anyone here has a better plan, right?" Only silence followed those words, until Cassandra spoke up again sometime later.

"So exactly what are you suggesting, Solas?" the Seeker asked, peering at the elven apostate.

"You must understand that what I am going to say will be pure conjecture, so it is not guaranteed to work," Solas said first before laying out his plan. "When we were at the temple ruins on the mountaintop, I noticed a strange... formation, it seemed like some kind of proto-rift, and the Breach itself was tethered to it through tendrils of magical energy."

"That crystal-like thing?" Alistair asked, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully, and perhaps a little nervously. "Yes, I remember that... it was most disconcerting."

"It was downright creepy," Varric made a dirty face at that particular memory. "Even the templars turned their tail and ran."

"My theory is that this proto-rift was formed at the very epicenter of the explosion that created the Breach," Solas continued to explain. "Through it and the tethers of energy connecting to it, we could, in theory, affect the Breach."

"And make it even worse," Varric quipped.

"That is also a possibility, yes," the elf acknowledged. "Though I fail to see how things could become any worse than they already are."

"I suppose... in theory, the magic on our prisoner's hand could be first tested on some of the smaller rifts before we dare to affect the Breach itself," Bethany suggested.

"Yes, that is a good idea," Solas nodded in acceptance.

"So what is it that you are proposing?" Cassandra asked, staring firmly at the elf. "That we take the prisoner to the temple ruins and tell them to... what, close the Breach?"

"Do you have a better idea, Seeker?" Varric rolled his eyes at Cassandra.

"I don't," the Nevarran woman replied. "But I want to interrogate the man before letting him loose on the mountainside. There is still a possibility that he might have caused the explosion that killed the Divine and many others, and we should not forget that despite how dire our situation appears."

"Cassandra, you could first interrogate the prisoner and then make the decision whether to bring him to the Breach?" Bethany offered, earning a reluctant nod from the Seeker. "Along the way, we could test his magic on some of the smaller rifts."

"That seems like a perfectly acceptable plan," Solas agreed. "There are plenty of these smaller rifts around the forward camp. Despite the dangers that these men and women face up on the mountain, holding the forward camp could be crucial if our mission is to succeed. If we could reinforce their position..."

"Yes, that is a good idea, Solas," Alistair nodded decisively. "I will take some of the men and head up to the forward camp myself. We will do everything we can to hold it until you are ready to bring the prisoner to the temple."

"Thank you, Alistair, it would be most appreciated," Cassandra smiled at the Warden, Alistair excusing himself to head back to the chantry and make his preparations.

"Well, unless I'm needed for anything else, I would desperately like to hit the proverbial sack," Varric added with a yawn, starting to walk towards the chantry as well. "Wake me up when you're ready to head to the temple..."

"I should make my own preparations too," Solas spoke, quickly departing and leaving Bethany alone with Cassandra.

"You should go rest as well," the Seeker smiled at the younger woman. "You must be exhausted after that trek up the mountain."

"I will rest... but not until I have shared some of my concerns with you," Bethany whispered, leaning closer towards Cassandra, looking around to make sure they would not be overheard, then remembering about Lysette standing guard in the infirmary. "Could we step aside for a moment?"

"Of course," Cassandra replied, leading Bethany away until they found a quiet spot at the back of the chantry building away from the eyes and ears of the others. "What's on your mind, Bethany?"

"It's about Solas," Bethany replied.

"Have you learned something?" the Seeker demanded hastily, not allowing Bethany to even begin explaining. "Did you learn something during your trip to the forward camp?"

Bethany gave her fellow founder of the Inquisition a reproachful look before replying. "No, it was something that I picked up listening to him just now," she explained. "He says that his ideas about the way this magic on the survivor's hand works are simply conjecture, but... I don't believe that for a moment."

"You'll have to explain that to me, Bethany," Cassandra looked a little confused.

"Well... it's hard to explain, but I'll try," Bethany replied thoughtfully, trying to gather her thoughts. "A lot of the things that he suggested seemed to be logical conclusions from the facts we know. Normal magic does not work on the rifts, so you have to look for something unusual, right? The only extraordinary thing we have is the mark on the survivor's hand, so we might as well try that. I guess I could have taken the trail of thought this far as well."

"Exactly, it all seems logical so far," Cassandra shrugged. "What are you objecting to?"

"Well, Solas wanted to take the prisoner straight to the main rift up at the temple, and use the magic of the mark on it," Bethany explained. "That seems an awfully risky thing to do, wouldn't you say so? Wouldn't it have made a lot more sense to first test the magic on one of the smaller rifts near the forward camp, as I suggested?"

"Yes... I suppose it does…" the Seeker agreed, a little uncertainly. "But I still don't see where you are taking this..."

Bethany sighed inwardly, though she realized that she should not expect Cassandra to be as knowledgeable about magic as she was. "I am saying that he did not feel the necessity to test this strange magic because he knows what it is and how it works," the Left Hand of the Divine spoke with certainty. "I **know** that he has seen this magic before. I just **do**."

"Hmm," Cassandra looked unsure of what to say for a moment. "Could it be some kind of ancient elven magic we don't know about?"

"That is very likely," Bethany nodded.

"I find this very troubling, Bethany," Cassandra confessed. "Should we interrogate him?"

"Interrogate him?" Bethany responded with a hollow laugh. "That would never get us any answers, Cassandra. Unless you plan to torture him... which I would strongly object to."

"No… no, I did not plan to do that," Cassandra paled a little from the very idea. "That is one feature of the Inquisition of the old that I do not wish to resurrect. The stories are... gruesome enough."

Bethany nodded in agreement before moving to elaborate further. "I think we need to proceed as before, Cassandra," she said. "The only way we will learn anything from Solas is by earning his trust, so I will continue to work on that. I feel as if he truly wants to help us, even if he is not telling us the full truth. We should probably listen closely to his suggestions, because I am certain he knows much more about what is happening than he is letting on. Perhaps something like this," Bethany pointed up at the Breach in the sky, "has already happened before, in ancient past."

"A sobering thought," Cassandra said, shuddering a little. "So we are forced to go along with the suggestions of a man who's motives are unclear to us. I find it very disconcerting."

"I can imagine, because you don't feel that we're in control of the events... and we are not," Bethany smiled comfortingly. "But I think that we can be certain of one thing. Everyone here wants to stop the Breach from growing. Even Solas. There is no reason whatsoever for anyone to want to see it swallow all of Thedas."

"Except for the one who caused it in the first place," Cassandra harrumphed. "There's still a small chance that it might have been Solas himself."

"I don't believe that for a moment," Bethany shook her head vigorously.

"You don't believe that it was Solas?" Cassandra asked.

"No," Bethany replied with certainty. "I don't believe for a moment that whoever caused the explosion at the temple, meant for exactly that," she pointed up at the Breach in the sky, "to happen..."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Village of Haven _

Maxime Trevelyan was not having the best day of his life. Waking up in a soft bed had been a pleasant surprise, but before he had managed to inquire why there were two templars standing by said bed, terrible pain suddenly seized his left arm, Maxime glancing down, shocked to discover that his hand was wrapped with glowing green magical flames, burning his skin. Eventually, the green fire subsided and the terrible pain released him from its grasp, but the entire ordeal left Maxime breathing heavily, cold sweat running down his brow.

As he was about to demand an explanation of what had happened to him, suddenly another person entered his field of vision, a woman dressed in a well-maintained suit of armor bearing something similar to the regalia of the Templar Order, but it was a little different than the armor of the templars present in the room. The woman herself appeared quite striking, Maxime noticed that immediately, short-cropped pitch-black hair, dark, piercing eyes and warm olive skin, identifying her as either Antivan or Nevarran. The deep scar across her left cheek did not seem to detract from her beauty; in fact, Maxime thought it gave her an even more dangerous and wild appearance that immediately intrigued the man.

"Your name," the woman spoke in a richly accented voice, approaching his bed, ignoring the fact that he had only just finished thrashing from pain.

Maxime licked his dry lips, about to reply, but then stopping when he realized that he did not even know why this exotic woman was interrogating him. "Only if you tell me yours first," he replied, a little defiantly.

"I see that you clearly do not understand how precarious your situation is," the woman scowled at him, not pleased with the answer she had received. "It would do you well to cooperate or else I will not be able to ensure your safety." Maxime did not reply anything to that, merely wondering why his safety required some special assurance because he certainly could not remember doing anything that could have caused some kind of a stir. Then the woman sighed and gave him a withering glare. "Fine, if this is what will take you to answer my questions... my name is Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Truth and the Right Hand of the Divine."

"Consider me awed to be interrogated by someone with such impressive titles," Maxime smirked, further frustrating the woman. "I'm afraid I can offer little in return. Call me Maxime Trevelyan, of the noble House of Trevelyan in Ostwick."

"Well then, Lord Trevelyan," Seeker Pentaghast began sternly, crossing her arms on her chest. "Tell me what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

"You mean you don't even know about the Conclave that your own Divine was hosting?" Maxime peered at the woman. "Anyway, I only went there as the glorified guard of my sister Cecilia and other loyalist mages from Ostwick. Trying to get back in the good graces of my dear father, you see. Given the choice, I would have never made my way to a gloomy pit like this." He cocked his head and dared to look outside the small window on his left, nothing but trees, snow, and simple log houses in the view. "But... we're not at the temple anymore, obviously. Where are we, Haven?"

"Yes," Cassandra nodded curtly. "So, you are claiming that you don't remember anything about what happened at the temple?"

"Well... I remember being there... and being horribly bored," Maxime shrugged. "But it almost sounds as if there is some particular event at the temple that you are referring to?"

"There is," the Seeker confirmed. "Tell me, what is the last thing you remember from your time at the temple?"

"Uh... let's see," Maxime replied, trying to focus. His head felt a little fuzzy, making it hard for him to concentrate, and it almost felt as if there were pieces of his memory that were scattered, or missing altogether. "This is strange... I remember sneaking out from my chambers because I was bored... wandering around the temple... and then it just all becomes a blur. Sorry."

"There was an explosion at the mountaintop," Cassandra spat, looking disgusted and angry beyond words. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead." She gave Maxime another piercing stare. "Everyone except for you."

"Wait... wait..." Maxime blinked, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. "That means Cecilia as well?" Cassandra nodded mutely. "Damn... tiresome as she might have been, she was still my sister... damn..." he sighed, his head spinning, trying to come to terms with the news he had just received. "So... just because I'm the only survivor... you think I must be the one behind this plot?"

The Seeker approached him, Maxime still lying on the bed as she bent down and grabbed his left arm, lifting it up a little. It began to glow green with the magic again, and he winced from the intense pain, the Seeker eventually releasing his hand once the flames of the green energy had died down. "Should we suppress the magic, Lady Cassandra?" one of the templars asked the woman.

"Not now. Solas said we need his magic active and bursting for what we intend to do," Cassandra replied, turning back to Maxime. "You are no mage, Lord Trevelyan. Can you explain how you obtained this magical mark on your hand?"

"I have no idea what it is or how it got there... but I would very much like to get rid of it," Maxime shook his head. "You can have it if you like it."

"Save your quips, Lord Trevelyan, this is neither the time nor place," Cassandra exclaimed angrily. "I swear, if we didn't need him..." she muttered quietly under her breath. "Very well, let us try again... and think very carefully before you reply," the Seeker said having recomposed herself. "Do you remember anything at all between that last memory of wandering around the temple and then of waking up here in Haven?"

"I... let me think..." Maxime replied, trying to focus on his hazy memories. The images were there, but they were disjointed, murky, and he wasn't even sure they were real and not a dream. "I remember... running, but it was not through the temple... everything around me was obscured by a thick fog... there was something chasing me..."

"Something with too many eyes," Cassandra remarked, Maxime looking up at her with an odd stare.

"Yes... how did you know?" he demanded.

"You were rambling in your sleep," the Seeker elaborated. "Please, continue."

"There is not much else," Maxime shrugged weakly. "I also seem to remember there was... a woman? She was reaching out to me... I think..."

"Andraste!" one of the templars by the bed exclaimed in awe.

"For Maker's sake, man, we don't know that!" Cassandra glared at the templar angrily, then turning back to Maxime on the bed. "I need to take you to the mountaintop if you are to prove your innocence. Can you travel?"

"I... yes, I probably can," Maxime nodded, slowly getting out of the bed. He was feeling a little lightheaded and unsteady on his feet, but otherwise he seemed to be capable of walking. "Why do you want to take me back to the temple, though?"

"Perhaps you should see for yourself," Cassandra said sternly, one of the templars taking Maxime by the hand and escorting him to the door of the small log building, leading the man outside following the Seeker.

"What the... Maker's balls, what happened here?" Maxime gasped at the shocking sight that opened to his eyes once he had stepped outside in the fresh, cold mountain air of the village. The sky as Maxime remembered it was no longer up there, replaced by a sickening swirling vortex of malevolent green glow, similar to the color of the magical flames painfully licking his hand with irritating regularity.

"We call it the 'Breach'," Cassandra explained as she and the two templars led Maxime through the village, accompanied by angry glares and candid insults directed towards him by some of the locals, having already decided him to be responsible for the tragedy that had occurred at the temple. "It is a massive rift into the world where spirits and demons dwell, a rift that grows larger with every passing hour. More such rifts, only smaller, continue to spawn all across the mountainside... all caused by the explosion at the Conclave. Unless we act now, the Breach will continue to grow until the entire Fade swallows the world of mortals."

"Seems like we should be heading in the directly opposite direction and not towards the mountaintop," Maxime said thoughtfully, not sure what to make of the frightening situation. Everything seemed so utterly surreal that he truly expected to wake up from something that surely was only a terrifying nightmare of his. "Shouldn't we be falling back to safety?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" the olive-skinned woman glared at him fiercely as if he had said something completely ridiculous. "Unless we do something, there will be no safety anywhere on Thedas! That," she pointed at the glowing mark on Maxime's hand, the burning pain of another green fiery flash bringing him to his knees, "might be the key to stop the Breach from spreading... but we have to hurry. The situation at the forward camp is dire."

"How... why would you even think it might help?" Maxime protested, taking a few deep breaths to recover. "I don't even know what it is and how it got there!" He gave the Seeker a scrutinizing glance. "And if you know anything about this mark, I would really like to hear it."

"We know that it is tied to the explosion at the temple," Cassandra shrugged. "And we will shortly discover whether it can help us in closing the Breach."

"This is... not smart," Maxime ranted, wanting to add a more juicy expletive, but stopped from doing so by the Seeker's stern glare. "Whatever," he eventually sighed in resignation. "I don't suppose I can dissuade you from this fool's errand."

"We do not have another plan," Cassandra said, frowning as she crossed her arms on her chest. "And you would do well to cooperate. Remember," she pointed at some of the gathered locals, most of them giving Maxime cold stares, full of anger and mistrust. "Most of them already consider you guilty. You should be committed to convincing them of the opposite."

Maxime did not reply anything to that, still on his knees, seething a little as he acknowledged that Cassandra was giving him an opportunity that he would be a fool to reject. He was reasonably certain that he had not done anything to blow up the sodding temple and tear open the very Veil itself, but somehow he had ended up in this unfortunate position of the main suspect, and cooperating with the Seeker and her people seemed like the most reasonable course of action on his part. It was certainly better than being dead alongside Cecilia and all the others at the temple.

"Lysette, Mattrin, help him to stand and move," Cassandra ordered, the two templars immediately at Maxime's side, carefully lifting him up to his feet. "Where are Bethany and the others?"

"They are waiting for you at the Penitent's Crossing," the templar woman, Lysette, replied. "We will escort you there, Seeker. Just to make sure nothing... unfortunate occurs."

"Please do so, Lysette," Cassandra nodded, starting the brief walk through the tiny village, towards the gates leading out and up the mountainside. The locals were out in full force, but at least not everyone was glaring at Maxime angrily, some also looked at him with curiosity, although still appearing wary and suspicious.

The village of Haven itself appeared in a fairly decent shape, considering the overall situation portrayed by the grim Seeker. It looked as if the survivors had banded together in a reasonably cohesive force that had beaten back countless demon attacks, Maxime spotting armed men and women whose armors represented noble houses from all over Thedas, this ragtag bunch of defenders augmented by the occasional capable templar who had had the fortune of not being at the temple at the time of the explosion. Outside the village, the situation appeared much worse, signs of destruction everywhere, rubble from the destruction of the temple having been blown all the way down the mountain, rampaging rage demons having set everything flammable on fire. While the villagers lacked the numbers to hold the entire path to the forward camp, at least they had enough people for patrols up to the Penitent's Crossing, making sure that this first part of the journey up the mountain was fairly safe.

"So, just how did I survive that explosion at the temple?" Maxime asked as they walked, using the brief time between the painful flashes of the strange green magical fire on his left hand.

"They say you stepped out from a Fade rift... and then fell unconscious," Cassandra explained, sounding reluctant. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you, but no one knows who she was..."

"It was our Lady Andraste, we are sure of it, Seeker," Lysette replied in a reverent voice.

"Andraste? What a-..." Maxime was about to say 'joke', but managed to stop himself just in time. _Hmm, those templars almost seem to be treating me with respect because they think that... Andraste saved me? Might be worth it to let them believe that tale, foolish as it is. _"What a remarkable story... and who knows, it seems so unbelievable that it just might be true."

"Perhaps we will find out more about it in due time," Cassandra replied, her brow wrinkling a little as she noticed the templars nodding along with Maxime's words. "Right now, I would discourage anyone from speculating about these things."

After a few minutes of hard walking, the impressively large gates of the bridge of Penitent's Crossing appeared in their view, larger force posted there to protect the crucial link between Haven and the forward camp. The gates were opened immediately upon their arrival, Cassandra leading Maxime onto the bridge, navigating around rows of makeshift barricades, several abandoned caravan wagons and chests with supplies, ending up in a heated confrontation between a beautiful dark-haired woman wearing mage robes, and a middle-aged man whose clothing identified him as a Chantry cleric.

"The prisoner must be brought to the Temple of Sacred Ashes," the attractive female mage argued passionately. "It is our only chance!"

"You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility," the Chantry cleric replied, glaring at the woman.

"And what trouble exactly have I caused?" the woman demanded, refusing to back down.

"You know perfectly well!" the man exploded in righteous anger. "This... Inquisition of yours that the people are whispering about in every corner! Preposterous! I will not have it!"

"It is just as well that you are not important enough for your opinion to matter," the woman snapped, causing the man to bristle with anger so badly that it looked as if he might pop a vein.

"Bethany!" Cassandra called out to the female mage, smiling at her. "Chancellor Roderick," she added, her expression changing to a bitter frown as she stared down the grumpy cleric.

_Bethany, so that is her name, _Maxime remarked to himself, his eyes lingering on the woman's tender smile and the warmth of her deep brown eyes, before taking in the supple, enchanting shape of her body. Even if her thick mage robes left a lot to the imagination that had never been a problem for Maxime. _I think I've seen her before, but where? Oh, of course, the beauty who greeted our delegation when we arrived in Haven. It would be a tough choice between her and the stern, acerbic Seeker... _

"Ah, there they are," Chancellor Roderick barked, giving Maxime a particularly venomous glare. "As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution." Much to the Grand Chancellor's frustration, nobody moved to follow his orders, leaving the man fuming helplessly.

"If you wanted to be taken seriously, you probably should have joined the other Chantry," Maxime chuckled. "You know, the one where they let men have all the say." Roderick's eyes looked to be practically popping out of their sockets from those heretical words, Cassandra also scowling a little, while Bethany let out a brief snicker before silencing herself and pretending that she too was not in the least amused.

"That was in extremely poor taste," Cassandra scowled at Maxime.

"Maybe that's why it was so funny, Seeker!" a cheerful male voice rumbled nearby, Maxime turning around to see two strange characters approaching them. The one who had just spoken was a dwarf, carrying a massive crossbow on his back, the weapon looking as tall as the dwarf himself. He apparently was suffering from some kind of a jacket malfunction that left most of his hairy chest cruelly exposed to the eyes of the others. "Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, merchant... simply put, a man of many talents," the dwarf grinned at him, making an exaggerated bow.

"And my name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," said the dwarf's companion, a bald elven man of undeterminable age, wearing robes similar to the kind that Maxime had seen amongst the Dalish. "I am pleased to see you still live."

"Well, if Chuckles here hadn't figured out how to suppress that magic on your hand, you probably wouldn't be standing there," Varric laughed, looking up at the elf.

"I guess I owe you one, then," Maxime nodded to the strange elf, feeling grateful. Whatever his current situation might be it was certainly far more preferable to being dead. "And my name is Maxime Trevelyan for those who don't know it yet."

"Pleased to meet you, Maxime," the lady mage, Bethany, smiled at him warmly, and he replied with a most charming smile of his own.

"How dare you to ignore me!" Chancellor Roderick hissed, still red-faced from nobody moving to follow his orders, not even the templars of the Chantry.

"Funny, I thought that was exactly what we were going to do," Maxime quipped, further frustrating the humiliated Chancellor.

"Enough of this nonsense," Cassandra glared at Maxime menacingly, the man backing down immediately, realizing that making an enemy of the Seeker would be a most foolish mistake on his part. "The prisoner's manner is crude, but he is not wrong. You do not have any authority here, Chancellor Roderick, not over me, or anyone!"

"Remember that you are supposed to be serving the Chantry, Seeker," Roderick spat. "The Divine is dead, we know that by now! And that leaves us with only one path to pursue... we must elect a replacement, and we must obey _her_ orders on the matter!"

"Certainly, a new Divine must and will be elected," Bethany said with a sweet smile on her lips. "But these things take time, Chancellor Roderick. It almost seems that you have decided to speak in the name of this hypothetical new Divine, and I am most curious to learn why you think you have that right. If anything, it should be me and Cassandra as the Left and Right Hands of the Divine who would have the right to speak in her absence."

"Do not dream that anyone will recognize the legitimacy of your claims, girl," Roderick shot Bethany a dark glare. "The Divine clearly composed that writ under the influence of some dark magic... probably your own. You are no Left Hand of the Divine, and you will never be recognized as such."

"That remains to be seen," Cassandra cut in before Bethany could utter her rebuke to the seething Chancellor. "Now... will you move aside and stop being disruptive, or must I ask armed guards to escort you back to Haven? We are taking the prisoner to the temple ruins in order to stop the Breach from growing, and that is final. You are in no position to stop us, Chancellor Roderick. Return to Haven and we can continue this entertaining debate after we have returned from the mountaintop... hopefully with good news."

"This is not over by any means," Roderick exclaimed, angrily barging past them and stomping off, gesticulating wildly as he muttered to himself.

"Seems like he's intent on causing problems," Maxime remarked as the small group watched the departure of the irate Chantry cleric.

"Normally I would say that he does not have the influence to cause any trouble," Bethany remarked. "But now with so many Grand Clerics dead at the Conclave... his opinion might carry more weight. But we cannot worry about that," she cast her eyes skyward, at the Breach. "Unless that magic on your hand works on the rifts, none of this will matter."

"Why do you think that it might work on the rifts?" Maxime inquired, turning towards the elven mage. "Solas, yes? You seem to have extensive knowledge about the mark on my hand."

"I don't know if I would call it extensive," Solas shrugged. "But my travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I may not know what magic opened the Breach in the sky, but I know that it also placed that mark upon your hand. It is my theory that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the wake of the Breach."

"And you dragged me all the way here to test this theory, right?" Maxime asked, turning towards Cassandra, the Seeker eventually responding with a nod. "Well, let's get to it, then," Maxime spoke up with fake cheerfulness. "I understand there's a lot of demons and those rifts out there... let's just go and do some... experiments. Oh, by the way..." he looked at the Seeker again. "If there is to be any fighting, I would prefer being able to defend myself."

"We will make sure to protect you," Cassandra scowled back at him.

"Do you think this is really necessary, Cassandra?" Bethany asked. "There are four of us, after all. He will hardly have a chance to escape. Might as well give Lord Trevelyan an opportunity to contribute."

Cassandra pondered for a moment, casting a brief glance at Solas and Varric who both seemed in agreement with Bethany's stance. "Oh, very well," the Seeker finally allowed, pointing at Varric. "Take him to the weapon racks behind the barricades, see if there is anything useful."

"Your wish is my command, oh gentle Seeker," Varric bowed with exaggerated flourish before taking Maxime to the weapons cache, waiting until the man finally found two short swords he was happy with, having gone through a few dozen to test their balance.

"There are several rifts that have opened recently and are blocking our path to the forward camp," Solas explained quickly when Varric and Maxime rejoined the others. "Since we have to deal with these rifts, they will provide us with an opportunity to test the mark."

"So, what are we waiting for?" Varric chuckled, giving his crossbow an affectionate pat. "Let's move out. Bianca is getting excited!"

"Bianca?" Maxime's eyebrow rose in curiosity.

"Don't bother asking," Bethany grinned at him. "He's not going to tell."

"We will depart shortly," Cassandra spoke decisively. "Let me just send Lysette and Mattrin back to the village with Chancellor Roderick. We have to keep an eye on that man, and we must also make sure nothing happens to him, irritating nuisance that he is."

It did not take long for the group of five to be on their way again, leaving the Penitent's Crossing behind them and climbing the always upwards weaving mountain path. The road was often blocked by larger pieces of debris from the destroyed temple, rockslides also having destroyed the beaten path and often forcing them to seek the long way around. Stray demons such as the weaker wraiths and shades occasionally crossed their path, but none of them survived their encounter with the five adventurers. Maxime was always the first to jump into the fray, hoping to impress Bethany and Cassandra with his fancy swordplay, but frustratingly the women did not seem to take notice, Maxime quickly realizing that he was surrounded by experienced campaigners who were easily his equals, and neither of the two women were like his usual prey, easily impressed by his elegant swordsmanship.

"There, a rift right ahead of us," Cassandra pointed out, Maxime hesitating for a moment before charging forward as he eyed the strange looking tear in the Veil, green mist surrounding it, a host of shades and wraiths scampering around it chaotically. "Let us clear out those demons before we attempt to close it."

Taking on all these demons at once was a slightly more vexing encounter, especially when more of them poured through the rift while they were still clearing out the remaining stragglers. One of the newly arrived greater shades appeared directly behind Bethany and looked ready to pounce on the unsuspecting mage, Maxime rushing to gallantly save the raven-haired beauty, but the bolts from Varric's wicked crossbow beat him to it, dropping the demon. Even worse, so focused on heroically helping out a lady in trouble, Maxime had forgotten about another shade demon, its claws painfully striking him in the midsection, causing the man to stagger. Bethany's magic quickly pushed the demon away from him, allowing Maxime to recover and quickly slice the irritating shade to pieces, then flashing Bethany a grateful smile, but the mage had already turned away to help out elsewhere on the battlefield.

"Quickly! Before more come through!" Solas shouted once the last of the demons had been brought down. He quickly approached Maxime, grabbing the man's hand and pointing it at the crackling rift in the Veil. Magic began to swirl around Maxime's hand, the green flame licking his skin and making him cry out in pain, the magic of the mark seemingly reacting to the presence of the rift, bursting with power. "Focus on the magic! Call out to it!" the elf exclaimed.

"It hurts too much to focus, damn it!" Maxime yelled back at the elven apostate.

"Then focus on the pain!" Solas did not let go. Maxime cursed inwardly, biting his cheek from the intense pain, but still tried to do what Solas had ordered, focusing his thoughts on the magic burning his hand, as if trying to escape. Despite how hard he tried to concentrate, nothing seemed to be happening and the pain was only growing much worse. When he was about to break off the attempt, however, a discharge of energy broke off from his hand and struck the rift, immediately closing it, Maxime falling on his knees with a loud cry as if he had been struck by lightning.

"The fucking hurt, you bloody knife-ear!" he exclaimed without thinking, cradling his left arm, feeling as if it was set on fire.

"My apologies," Solas replied. If the elf was offended, he made a good effort at hiding it. The only one who looked upset was Bethany, making Maxime instantly regret his hasty words, undoubtedly spoiling his first impressions on the attractive mage. "But there was no way to make this experience less intense for you. With time, I imagine that you will be able to master the control of the mark and make it less painful for yourself."

"I hope so," Maxime muttered, getting up to his feet. "And I'm sorry for overreacting, but... the whole ordeal was very unpleasant."

"We do not doubt that," Cassandra replied wearily. "The most important thing is that the magic of your mark works on the rifts. And that means that it will very likely work on the Breach itself. That is the best news we have had in days."

"I guess I should tolerate a bit of pain and discomfort in order to save the world from the ever-expanding Breach, eh?" Maxime chuckled, though nobody laughed at his hollow joke, everyone looking grim and serious. _Ah... they have realized how important I have suddenly become, _he thought to himself. _I am the only one who has the power to do something about this Breach. Hmm… being irreplaceable could bring its own rewards if I play my cards right..._

"Well, that is good to know," Varric eventually replied with a laugh of his own. "Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever. And if you want to charge fifty gold for every rift closed, I'm sure the Chantry coffers can ensure an agreeable rate for both parties..."

"Lord Trevelyan is still considered a prisoner," Cassandra pointed out. "An extremely valuable prisoner that we would not want someone like Chancellor Roderick and those who share his opinions getting their hands on. I am sure that Lord Trevelyan himself is not interested in such an outcome."

"Absolutely," Maxime smiled, nodding his head, realizing that for now he needed these people just as much as they needed him. "So... let's go close some more rifts?"

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, a slightly more tired party of five finally reached the forward camp, Maxime the one most exhausted having closed four more rifts along the way. Solas had been right, by the last rift he seemed to have a better control at mastering this odd magic of the mark, the pain less intense and no longer bringing him down to his knees, though the burning sensation along his entire left arm was still most unpleasant.<p>

The situation at the forward camp was desperate, and it did not seem as if it would be able to provide the kind of rest and recovery that Maxime badly craved by now. While there were no rifts in the direct vicinity, countless tears in the Veil could be spotted elsewhere higher up the mountain, and packs of demons constantly streamed down to assault the forward camp, sensing easy prey. Varric had spoken of the forward camp having a roster of dozen soldiers, but from all of them only five remained, including their Grey Warden leader, the men exhausted beyond belief, trying to hold this hopeless position under relentless assault.

"We were starting to lose hope here," the commander at the forward camp greeted them, receiving the much welcomed relief force. "Another hour, and you would have found nothing but our corpses here in the snow."

"They will sing songs about your heroism one day, I promise," Bethany smiled warmly at the tired defenders of the camp, the men all seemingly taking heart from this simple gesture, something that Maxime understood only too well, also not wanting to appear exhausted in front of the charming mage.

"I take it that the magic of the mark works on the rifts, or else you would not have risked making your way up here?" the Grey Warden asked, briefly looking at Maxime.

"It gets the job done, even if I'm not exactly enjoying the experience," Maxime replied, his eyes briefly meeting those of the Warden. _Hmm… he looks familiar, _Maxime suddenly realized, knowing immediately that he had met the man before. "Pardon me, Ser Warden," he addressed the commander of the forward camp before the man could move away to discuss something with Cassandra. "You look very familiar, but I cannot quite place your face. The explosion at the temple appears to have jogged my memory a bit... do we know each other?"

"Not that I know of," the man shrugged his shoulders, only making Maxime more certain that he had met this Grey Warden before.

"You sound Fereldan..." Maxime mused. "I was there, fighting during the Fifth Blight. Perhaps I have met you there..."

"It is possible," the Warden replied, looking uninterested. "I fought the Blight, yes, so it might have been there. But we should really concentrate on the here and now. I think that we should leave for the temple as soon as possible because it will only get worse with every passing minute. Basically… it's now or never..."

"You could try falling back to the village," Cassandra told the Warden and his exhausted looking soldiers. "There's no need for you to give more of yourselves this day, we should be able to handle the rest of the way to the temple."

"You don't actually know that, Seeker," the Warden pointed out, quite logically. "Besides, tired as we are, we could be easy pickings for a pack of demons if they ambush us on the way back to Haven. No, there is safety in numbers... it would be smarter _**and**_ safer for us to accompany you to the temple."

"Well, your presence will be greatly appreciated as always, Alistair," Bethany smiled at the Warden... and the mention of his name suddenly made everything click in Maxime's head.

"Alistair?" he exclaimed, facing down the Grey Warden. "Andraste's tits, I know who you are!"

"Perhaps you once knew the man I used to be," Alistair replied, looking a little uncomfortable. "Now I am simply Grey Warden Alistair."

"Perhaps, but still... I think this is bloody rich," Maxime laughed, turning to Bethany and Cassandra, the two women looking at him with incomprehension in their eyes. "You have the legitimate heir to the throne of Ferelden in your ranks... and you don't even know about it..."


End file.
